


Jersey on my mind

by stonecoldjerseyfox



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alexandria Safe-Zone (Walking Dead), Childhood Trauma, Confused Daryl Dixon, Dark Comedy, Daryl Dixon Smut, Disabled Character, F/M, Motherhood, Multi, Muteness, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Other, POV Daryl Dixon, POV Female Character, Protective Daryl Dixon, Romantic Comedy, Single Parents, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:55:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 67,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25935532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonecoldjerseyfox/pseuds/stonecoldjerseyfox
Summary: When Daryl Dixon suddenly finds himself running back to Alexandria with a dying woman in his arms, he doesn’t know his reality is about to take a drastic turn. Who is this feisty, young lady who just saved his life, dying in his arms?Life has never been easy on Mila Sergeyevna. There's enough trauma in her backpack to last a lifetime and would made anyone else crack. Well, Mila isn't just anyone. When the whole world is about to perish, just as life finally seems to be getting better for her, it’s survival mode ‘on’. This time it’s permanent. As the walking dead roams the earth, Mila has to embrace her past demons and prove once and for all that she can do anything, whether it’s raising a disabled toddler on her own in the middle of an apocalypse or killing her fiancé, to save the both of them.When Mila stumbles upon, and saves a sulky, ungrateful archer from a trap, it’s more than ever a question of survival. It will change her entire life.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon & Original Female Character(s), Daryl Dixon/Original Character(s), Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 33





	1. Jersey on my mind (Part 1)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.  
> I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.  
> I hope you will like the story.

Daryl rams his fist in the roof of the car as hard as he possibly can and swears loudly at his own stupidity; he doesn’t even try to tailor the words as he utters a whole bunch of profanity, without its equal. Fucking hell! Of course it was a trap! And here they are, locked inside a car, like a baffled fox stuck in a fox scissors. The difference is that he and Aaron are stuck inside a crappy car with a dead engine, surrounded by walkers. How many are they? Too many. Right now, he’d preferred the fox scissors. With pulsating, burning knuckles he looks at his male companion.

”What?”

The man in the passenger seat observes him calmly. Daryl hesitates at first, but on the other hand; they are sitting in a car that can be devoured, to say the least, by hordes of walkers any second. It would just require that one of those rotten morons manages to smash a window.

”I came out here too, ya know, not feel all close up back there.” Daryl scoffs. ”Even now, this still feels more like me than back in them houses. That’s pretty messed up, huh?”

Aaron meets his gaze, nods slightly, with a faint smile. Is it pity?

”You were trying.”

Maybe all in vain, Daryl thinks. He’s been accustomed to surviving day by day; all of his life has been about surviving, often day by day, to the point where this new reality feels completely unnatural to him. Being out in the woods, hunt for food, sleep underneath the stars, wash off wherever he could find water. Nowadays, since the group settled in Alexandria, he feels like a caged, wild animal; shackled, restricted, totally superfluous. To admit that this new way of life doesn’t bring him any calm, any satisfaction, is shameful. But to come clean with it; if this is the end, it doesn’t matter, right?

”Listen-” Aaron says, while a walker presses its face towards the window, smears its saliva, mixed with blood, all over it. ”I saw you with your group out there. You led them to safety.”

Daryl grunts. Yep, he did. But that wasn’t enough. Nothing is enough. He couldn’t save Beth and it still haunts him in his dreams. No one, not even Maggie, blamed him for it, but it didn’t help him sleep any better at night. He thought the discovery of Alexandria would heal his wounds to some extent, make him feel that he was repaying some kind of debt to the group, a favor of some sort; In vain off course.

A dead bastard grins badly at him through the window. They can’t sit here. They have to get out. Aaron seems to think the same. Daryl takes a cigarette from his pocket, puts it between his lips and starts looking for something to light it with.

”I’ll go.” he says. ”I’ll lead them out. You make a break for the fence.”

Aaron immediately starts to oppose the plan. Crap, they don’t really have time to argue. 

”Just let me finish my smoke first.”

Daryl is about to take a throat flare when he’s interrupted. Somewhere on the outside, gunfire breaks out. Daryl drops the cigarette into his crotch out of pure surprise. He swears out loudly as the cigarette burns a small hole in his pants, while the walkers, whose attention has been directed towards the men inside the car, like kids in a candy store, shifts attention towards the sound. Aaron twists and turns in the passenger seats, tries to get a glimpse of what’s going on outside, but the walkers are in the way.

”What’s that?”

”I dunno.”

Whatever it may be, it can’t be good. No one from their group knows they are here. Outside the car, walkers are mowed to the ground like dominoes. This is their chance.

”Come on.”

Daryl grabs the crossbow. With the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and with one last glance at Aaron, they swing the doors open and throw themselves out of the car. Without dropping the cigarette, Daryl swings the crossbow through the air and hits one of the walking corpses right in the kisser. Its jaw bone flies through the air and drops to the ground. At the same time Daryl sees two figures in the corner of his eyes he doesn’t recognize. A male, armed with what looks like the shaft of a broomstick, which he swings through the air like some goddamn- he’s torn from the staff and the man, as the second figure dives into his field of view. A woman, wearing a hat, armed with an automatic rifle that she aims at a walker right behind him; she shoots and the bullet hits straight in the head.

”Let’s go.” the unknown male waves at them to follow his lead.

They start running through the mass, towards the open gate in the fence, surrounding the area. Daryl shuts the gate in front of the remaining walkers just as they reaches it. Daryl and Aaron turns towards the newcomers. The situation has changed in the matter of seconds. From being crammed inside the car, surrounded by walkers and in the belief that their last moment had come, they have been freed by two complete strangers. The deserted street is littered with walkers. The four of them looks at each other, while the remaining dead sons of bitches tries their best to squeeze themselves trough the small squares of wired net.

”That was…” Aaron looks at them with his hands raised in front of him; some kind of peaceful gesture. ”That was… wow. Thanks. I’m Aaron. This is Daryl.”

Without the slightest facial reaction, the woman lifts the rifle at them; over the barrel Daryl meets her steady, yet jaded, gaze underneath the brim. Come on…

”No, no, no.” Aaron waves his hands even more frantically in front of himself and Daryl.

”What the f-”

”Mila-” the man’s dark eyes widen at her bold action.

”Safety precaution, Morgan.” the woman replies, in a thick accent no one of them definitely haven’t heard before. ”You got to save them. Now we’re even.”

”I said no harm-”

”Yeah, ’cuz that went well yesterday?” she scoffs.

Daryl’s tired. Tired of being surprised, tired of being overshadowed and damn tired of having weapons aimed at him; he raises his crossbow at her. That might make her boggle. It doesn’t.

”I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” she says. Without breaking their eye contact she nods the barrel towards the ground, for him to put down his crossbow.

”Ain’t that smart pointing guns at people, lady.”

”Ain’t smart getting trapped either.”

Don’t fucking test my patience, Daryl thinks, focuses on breathing trough his nose; it’s not the right time to fire up, though his temper works against him on that part. He sighs and reluctantly lowers the crossbow. Behind the rifle he’s met with a smirk, whereupon she lowers the rifle.

”Great.” Aaron lets out a deep sigh. ”Thanks, again. Erhm, why-” he turns and looks at the bloodthirsty cluster behind the fence.

Daryl looks at the male with the staff. Why didn’t he kill them? She was the only one who actually did.

”Because all life is precious, Daryl.”

At those words the woman rolls her eyes.

”Wha-”

”Don’t ask.” the young woman interrupts Aaron. ”We have to move. Whoever set the trap will return.”

Daryl looks at the unlucky couple. He’s in his late forties, tall and dressed in cargos; she can’t be a day older than thirty, maybe even younger. Short, athletic similar to a long-distance runner; tenacious, lean muscles. Except for the hat, she’s dressed in jeans, denim shirt, a quilted rust colored jacket and a pair of boots. What catches his eye is how worn and pale she looks. The shadows under her eyes tattles that she hasn’t slept for a long time, may need to eat, or even have a cold. At that moment she puts her fingers in the corners of her mouths and whistles loudly. The sharp sound bounces over the desolated road, against the buildings. As on command the back door of an abandoned pickup opens further afield. At first he’s sure it’s an ambush. The next second, and he can hardly believe his eyes, a boy, no more than three or four years old, with long, blonde hair, climbs out of the back seat and runs towards them. He carries a walkman and a pair of headphones in his small hands. A small backpack bounces on his back as he scurries up to them, where he clings to the women’s jeans, seemingly calm, curious even with the two newcomers. The extra weight the boy puts on her, while clinging to her right leg, seems to make her sway on the spot.

”He’s yours?”

What a stupid question; the only difference is the blonde hair, unlike hers. Otherwise, he’s a copy of his mother. 

”He is.”

She looks at the boy, then back at Daryl. The gaze is steady, alert; like a she-wolf watching its cub. The boy tugs at his mother’s jacket. She looks at him and shakes her head lightly, making the long hair sway. 

”Schh. I can’t carry you.” she whispers towards him and turns her head towards them. ”As I said, we better get out of here.” she repeats and squeezes the boy’s small hand, while giving Morgan a glance. ”It’s dusk soon.”

”Oh, but we have good news!” Aaron exclaims; the former politician returns to his role, in the hunt for voters and supporters. Or in this case, survivors to join them. ”We have a community not far from here. Walls, electricity, it’s really safe. If you’d like to come with us…”

They expect them to look overwhelmed. Maybe surprised even. Instead, Morgan shakes his head and politely abrupts Aaron.

”No, thank you. We’re on our way somewhere.” Morgan nods towards Mila and the boy, whose big blue eyes are pasted on Daryl and the crossbow in his hand.

”Though we are a bit lost-” Morgan continues, starts to search through the pockets of his jacket. ”If you could tell me where we are.”

From the beige weather jacket he takes a folded map, which he hands over to Daryl. He takes it. It’s well-used, worn and stained. Over the big blue field that is the Atlantic, next to the east coast, someone has written a message in blue ink. His eyes are drawn to a certain part of the message. He looks at Morgan, then back at the message. ’Sorry, I was an asshole. Come to Washington. The new world’s gonna need Rick Grimes’. Once again he looks up at Morgan. What does this mean? He knows Rick? 

”Ya’ know Rick? Rick Grimes?”

”Well, yes.” Morgan’s eyes wander between him and Aaron. ”Do you?”

”He’s with us.” Daryl returns the map. ”Back at Alexandria.”

Morgan and Mila look at each other. The man seems not to believe his ears, whereupon he declares that he found the map at a church, with Rick’s name on it.

”That’s where I met Mila, and Juri. We decided to stick together, go to Washington.”

”Well, he aint there.”

That’s when the situation, once again, changes rapidly, in a matter of seconds. The pale woman’s pupils dilates, as if a curtain is drawn in front of her, and she collapses on the ground in front of them.

”Mila!”

Morgan throws himself down next to her, followed by Aaron who takes the boy by the arm and pulls him over. Daryl gets down on one knee next to her; while Morgan pats her on the cheek, calling her name, Daryl places the back of his hand against her forehead, while his eyes searches for the cause of this.

”Mila, Mila!”

”She’s burning up.” Daryl states. ”When did you last eat?”

”A couple of hours ago.” Morgan says, and for the first time since they met him, he looks afraid. ”She didn’t eat much though. I don’t understand.”

”What’s wrong with her?” Aaron’s eyes are worried. ”Is she hurt?”

Like on command, Daryl once again searches her with his eyes, from top to bottom. She starts to move, or rather shivers with chills, while grunting, like in pain. She has a fever and is pale like a sheet.

”She’s wounded or something? Sick?”

”I don’t think so. Don’t know. She hasn’t said anything.” Morgan meets his gaze. ”We were assaulted yesterday, the same group that trapped you I believe. But we disarmed them.”

That’s when Daryl’s eyes are drawn to the tank top; it looks bulky at the stomach, as if it were too much fabric at that particular spot, and in addition, the entire middle part of the garment is somewhat stained, wet even. Without warning, Daryl lifts the top. What’s underneath causes Aaron to put his hands in front of the boy’s eyes; it’s not a pretty sight.

”All life is precious, my ass-” Daryl takes a deep breath and sighs. This ain’t good. ”Son of a bitch.”

Her midsection is wrapped in three layers of gaffer tape with pieces of grey cloths, soaked in blood. The skin is swollen and shifts in a palette of red, purple and blue.

”I had no idea.” Morgan exclaims.

”Well, now ya’ do.” Daryl sputters and takes out his knife. ”Gotta remove this. Hold her.”

While Morgan tries to get a word from Mila, Daryl cuts the tape and carefully lifts the bloody pieces of grey melange fabric, seemingly what once was a t-shirt. It’s worse than he thought. A gash, from what looks like a sharp object, like a machete, runs from navel to rib cage, is stapled with a staples gun and leeks fluid. The fact that the wound is stapled and that Morgan had no idea she was hurt, makes it even more bizarre; did she staple herself?

”Gotta get her to Alexandria.” Daryl says. ”She needs a medic.”

Without waiting for an answer, as if there was time for it, Daryl lifts her off the ground. If he, or they, doesn’t act quickly, she’ll die. And considering the boy- she quips when Daryl adjusts her in his arms, most likely in pain; that she was able to walk around an entire day, and ward off walkers with that wound; impressive, but incredibly foolish. How much blood has she lost by now? What was she thinking? That staples and gaffer tape would do the trick? It’s like a goddamn scrapbooking project. She ain’t no surgeon, that’s for sure. Morgan collects their belongings; backpacks and weapons, Aaron takes the boy, who hasn’t said a word during the entire time, in his arms and they start scudding back toward Alexandria.


	2. Jersey on my mind (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback: During a forest walk, Mila and her son Juri, discovers a church. They also encounter a new acquaintance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling mistakes and the like, so I can learn.  
> I started Jersey on my mind two years ago, when my mental health was not good. At the time of writing, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing on tumblr, so if you are really curious, all the parts are available there.  
> I hope you will like the story.

”Here comes the sun, du-du-du-du, here comes the su-un, and I say, it’s all ri-ight-”

The young woman hums as she walks through the vegetation, with habitual steps through the quiet leafy forest. The bright sun rays penetrate the dense foliage and settle like a dancing pattern across the grass and fallen branches; warming her head underneath the crown of the fedora, making her sing. Every now and then she feels soft, rhythmic kicks from the three and a half year-old’s small feet against her hips; his way to show that he likes what he hears. It warms her soul, unlike the sun that only warms her body.

”Does it sound good?” she asks.

A thumb pops into her field of view.

”Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces…” she continues to sing, until she feels a gentle thug on the brim of the hat. She stops. ”Huh? You want to walk?”

A small, clenched fist is pressed up against her shoulder; ’yes’, followed by a soft palm; ’please’.

Mila squats and puts the old AK74 rifle in the grass next to her. She unbuttons the buckle that holds the harness around her torso up, lets the boy climb out to stretch his little legs. He stands in front of her and Mila gets the chance to correct his pants leg and jacket. She makes sure the shoes are in place, ties them carefully. His eyes watch her patiently as she ties the laces one extra time. Mila remembers very well the time he lost his old pair after playing by a river in Virginia; sending them out in the gushing water, pretending they were boats.

”There we go.” Mila meets the boy’s gaze. ”Juri is ready to rumble.”

Juri bursts into a sunny smile, takes the hat from her head and puts it over his own blonde, long, hair. Mila gets up from the ground with the rifle. They have walked well into the forest by now without encountering anyone. She can probably let Juri walk on his own for a while. Her back would at least be thankful without that extra 13 kilos. The backpack is heavy enough. Being only three and a half, Juri is more sensible than many adults; he’s rational, careful and prudent. Mila nods and he turns around, to lead the way, with great confidence.

”Sun, sun, sun, here it comes.”

While walking, in a much slower pace than earlier, Mila wonders about the sign she saw earlier, the reason she decided to do a detour into the woods; a church. There’s a church somewhere in the woods, where there might be supplies. Her car ran out of gas on a road approximately two miles away. Timely there was a sign next to the road, telling her that there was a church nearby. It could mean that there was a town nearby, where there could be a gas station. She unbuckled Juri, put him in the carrier, locked the car and started walking. It’s mid-day, not a cloud in the sky and they have plenty of time before it gets dark. They might as well explore the woods, find the church and then look for gas, before having to seek shelter for the night. As the situation is now, there’s not a special final destination for them. For a few months Mila had a single thought in her head, besides taking care of Juri; get to Terminus.

One night she managed to tune in an odd station on the radio. A woman broadcasting over the crackling radio frequency; ”Terminus, those who arrive survive”. Mila jumped in the driver’s seat, was immediately wide awake and started to tune in the signal, desperately trying to make it clearer. Could it be possible? A sanctuary? She managed to catch the directions through the raspy one-way radio broadcasts before it was lost completely. Then she just sat there, hands gripping the wheel, breathing rapidly with a beating heart. The next day she drove south, towards Georgia. When she finally found Terminus, she was brutally struck by seeing the place destroyed. The air went out of her there and then, and she kneeled at the spot with Juri. Where would she go from there? Terminus had occupied her thoughts for weeks. She had a plan B, but it felt like going back to zero; back to New Jersey and the abandoned house in Little Silver. But she had no other choice. She started driving back north, waiting for some kind of sign.

Mila follows the bouncing blonde mane in front of her. Juri treads on while turning his head curiously to the right and left, eager to catch a glimpse of a bird or small animals. He’s particularly fond of critters, rabbits and chipmunks. Any other child would probably be a handful to bring into a similar situation; the aftermaths of a lethal pandemic, resulting in millions of living dead people. But Juri has been handling it pretty well. She smiles, continues to sing and drums her fingers against the oiled rifle stock.

”Sun, sun, sun, here it comes.”

At a cluster of blueberry bushes they take a break. Juri munches and Mila sits down against a tree resting her legs and watching him. Every now and then she’s fed berries by Juri. She also gets the hat back, which he kindly puts on her head.

”They tastes better in a pie.” Mila declares when Juri feeds her a handful of berries for the third time. ”With custard.”

She could have given much for a piece of warm pie right now. Preferably at the round kitchen table at the house in Little Silver. For how long have they lived like this now? One year? More?

”You remember custard?”

Juri nods intensely and licks his mouth. Oh yes, he remembers. No wonder, Mila thinks and smiles. He was crazy for custard back then. With the sight of the then barely two-year-old boy, covered with custard from his ears down to the chubby baby feet, on the inside of her eyelids, Mila rests against the tree. A little over an hour later, when Juri is completely stained with blueberries, she gets up from the ground. They find a stream of water and Mila washes Juri’s fingers, puts them in his mouth and pretends to chew, while the boy laughs. Then they continue to walk through the forest. Until they step out on a dirt road.

”Seems promising.” Mila looks down at Juri. ”Shall we?”

Juri starts running and Mila follows. Shortly thereafter, she catches a glimpse of something between the foliage, in sharp contrast to all the greenery. A white building with laying wooden panel. The church. Triumphantly Mila increases her pace, places her index finger on the trigger and keeps the rifle ready for any surprises; walkers, other people, anything really. Juri stays close behind her as they make their way towards the church, passing tipped over gravestones, surrounded by a small, frail fence. The windows of the small, white building are nailed shut with boards. The doors to the holy institution are wide open. Mila and Juri stop immediately, just like when they play ’Red light/Green light’. In front of her, in the doorway, a walker lies, with the shaft of an ax, wedged into its head. But that’s not what catches her eye and makes her and Juri completely still. Mila’s gaze wanders up the aisle, across the maroon carpet where another pair of walkers lies scattered. The old wooden benches are gaping empty. It’s what she sees at the altar that makes them go silent, and Mila to lift the rifle. A man is kneeling in front of the big crucifix with his back against her, as if he’s praying. A hiking backpack covers most of him, but Mila notes that he has shaved hair and dark skin; from her point of view she can’t see any weapons. Noiselessly, she takes a step over the limp walker in the doorway.

”Don’t move.” her voice bounces around the walls of the church. ”Raise your hands, turn around.”

It’s dead quiet. The man at the altar doesn’t let out a word. Obediently he raises his hands above his head, slowly gets up and turns around. Mila holds the rifle steady, her pulse is calm, head’s sharp. The man meets her gaze; he looks calm, not threatening, neither afraid. Rather surprised, as in awe. He’s around fifty, unarmed, except the long staff leaning against the altar. It looks like the shaft of a rake.


	3. Jersey on my mind (Part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl is amazed by the stubborn chick who refuses to give up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling mistakes and the like, so I can learn.  
> I started Jersey on my mind two years ago, when my mental health was not good. At the time of writing, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing on tumblr, so if you are really curious, all the parts are available there.  
> I hope you will like the story.

”Say it’s not true?” 

The sobbing teenage girl’s cry echoes heartbreakingly through the police station. 

”Tell me it’s not true!”

But Mila’s scream of affirmation remains unanswered; she barely hears her own voice and yet she shouts to the point that her lungs want to burst. Everything around her happens as in slow motion. She kicks and tries to get out of the policeman’s arms, but he’s strong and she’s exhausted. Her father looks at her over the commotion without saying anything, without expressing anything at all. It’s as if he has shut down all emotions, expressions, in his stern face. Mila doesn’t recognize him. 

”Tell me!”

Her father doesn’t get the chance to.

A flash of pain runs through Mila’s body and she’s torn from the memory of her past. Brutally ripped back to reality as she’s pierced by a gushing pain throughout her midsection. Mila whimpers loudly, tries to wrinkle her body like she was an accordion; is her abdomen on fire!? She opens her eyes. As through a haze she’s met with a bright light and the silhouettes of people. On sheer reflex Mila starts to fence her arms around; or at least tries to. Whatever’s going on she needs to stop the excruciating pain.

”Hold her still.” a woman exclaims. ”The sodium chloride will go everywhere!”

”Don’t ya think I try?” a man’s husky voice answers. Mila recognizes it. ”She’s like a fucking snake.”

Mila realizes at his words that she’s actually held down, towards something soft. Is it a bed? But the pain causes her to once again draw a deep, piercing breath; god it hurts. 

”Well, try better.” the woman snorts. ”You should have taken her to the hospital.”

”Well, it’s a little overcrowded there right now don’t ya think?”

”It would have been better than this. It’s not sterile.”

”Can you just do what you’re supposed to?” the man scoffs.

The woman sighs.

”And what the hell did she think with the staples?” she continues. ”I get the gaffer, but this! She’ll be lucky if she doesn’t have an infection.”

Mila tries to say something; maybe give a brittle explanation as to why she stapled the wound together. Had she not done so, she would have either bled out or her intestines would have fallen out. That would probably not happen but at the time it felt like a good idea. But the only thing she manages to utter is a mumbling sound. Has she been drugged?

”I think the morphine kicked in.”

”Juri.” she slurs. ”Where’s Juri?”

”What did she say?”

”Her kid. Aaron took him.”

And who the hell is Aaron? Mila wants to ask, but is again interrupted by a choking, piercing pain; the woman cleanses the wound internally with the help of a tweezer and a cotton bud, soaked in alcohol. Mila starts to fence her arms, but she’s held down fixedly by two strong hands. The haze in front of her eyes has almost entirely disappeared by now; Mila looks at the man holding her down. It’s the sulky guy from earlier. Daryl, the one with the crossbow. He looks at her with the same gaze as when she pointed the rifle at him. 

”Ya’ want her to stab ya’ with that thing?”

”Cyka!” she curses at him. ”Zhopa!”

”I have no fuckin’ idea what that means.”

”Dipshit!”

”Nice, thanks.”

Mila wrestles out of the strong man’s grip and relaxes, resting against the pillows and bites the bullet. It stings like hell. She looks at the medic, a woman who’s entire focus is directed at her abdomen; her aching, pulsating, abdomen that hurts so bad Mila’s eyes are about to roll back into her head. Fuck, the wound looks nasty. Mila thought she’d done a decent job on it yesterday, considering she wasn’t a doctor, didn’t have any medical equipment and patched herself up in the back of a car while Juri was asleep. At least she thought it would be enough until she could find a health center or a hospital along the road. She didn’t want to worry Morgan unnecessarily, or Juri for that matter. Juri’s safety depended entirely on her. Although she considers Morgan to be a friend, she cannot leave Juri alone in this world.

”You’re lucky.” the woman looks at her. ”It’s deep, but hasn’t damaged any vital organs. You’ve lost blood but I think you’ll be okay.” she puts away the tweezers. The cotton bud is entirely red, but the wound has stopped bleeding, just gaping at her. ”I need to stitch you up. And you’ll get some antibiotics.”

”Are you a doctor?” Mila groans and bites her lip.

”Sort of.”

Mila nods; at this point she wouldn’t probably care if the woman turned out to be a veterinarian or plastic surgeon. She seems to know what she’s doing and Mila’s getting drowsy. She’s completely exhausted. For a whole day she has pretended that everything is fine. She even carried Juri on one occasion; Mila thought she was going to vomit from pure pain, and had to put him down again, with the excuse that her back hurt. She couldn’t eat properly, she felt weak, sick even. When they came across the pack of walkers surrounding the car and Morgan wanted to intervene Mila had to pretend like nothing and use her last remaining powers to save two unknown men, one who has her son. Nope, she can’t relax, not without Juri. He hasn’t been out of sight of her since before the outbreak. Is he safe?

”Where’s Juri?” she fixes her gaze at Daryl, standing next to the bed. ”I swear-”

She whimpers as the woman inserts a surgeon needle into her skin, to patch her up. 

”Is it your son?” she asks.

Mila nods, still focused on the man, looking at him as to say ’I’ll fucking kill you if he’s harmed’. She would.

”Aaron took him.”

”I heard that.” Mila replies. ”Not what I meant.”

”I ran ahead, with ya’. Ya’ were pretty bad.” Daryl nods towards the window, draped with sheer curtains.

The woman looks at Mila and gives her an assuring smile.

”It will be alright. I’m Denise.”

Although Denise seems to be kindness personified and despite lying in a made bed in a room that seems to be completely unaffected by the external circumstances, Mila can’t relax. Where is she? What is this place? She remembers the other man they saved saying something about a ’Safe-Zone’. It seems a little too good to be true though. Electricity, healthcare, apparently there is even a hospital somewhere.

”How long was I passed out?”

”A while.” Daryl responds. ”You kinda hallucinated.”

”Really? What did I say?”

”Dunno, some gibberish. Didn’t understand a word.”

Twenty-something stitches later, Denise announces her work is done. When she’s about to be wrapped up in some bandage, Denise asks Daryl for help, but Mila proclaims, boldly, that she can sit up herself; something that turns out to be easier said than done after stitches. It’s like wearing a very painful corset.

”Ya’ always this persistent?” Daryl scoffs and sits down in an armchair at the end of the bed,

Stubborn as a mule, Mila supports herself on her elbows, while Denise wraps her up in a gauze, while Daryl mopes and peers out of the window. The sound of the front door opening and closing makes her twitch; like a wild animal, she tips her ears, before realizing she’s not out in the woods, alone with Juri. Footsteps against the stairs are heard. The familiar sound of a small pair of size nine timberland boots.


	4. Jersey on my mind (Part 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mila and her son Yuri is reunited in Alexandria and Daryl gets some shocking news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling mistakes and the like, so I can learn.  
> I started Jersey on my mind two years ago, when my mental health was not good. At the time of writing, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing on tumblr, so if you are really curious, all the parts are available there.  
> I hope you will like the story.

The bedroom door flies open and Daryl catches a glimpse of a flash of blonde long hair, rushing into the room. The little boy climbs up on the bed before anyone manages to react or stop him.

”Juri!”

Mila pulls the boy towards her, but moans out when she remembers that she’s actually in pain; but the tears in her eyes are not caused by soreness. With impressive restraint, she embraces the boy anyway, who drills his little nose into her neck. The small hands runs delicately through her hair, where he begins to twist hair strands between his fingers. Two other figures appear in the doorway; Aaron and the man with the staff, Morgan. The latter seems to let out a sigh of relief at the sight of his traveling companion. The same goes for Aaron, whose forehead is dripping with sweat.

”Daryl-” Aaron signs for him to follow him.

He’s torn from the moment played out in front of them, gets up from the chair and follows Aaron and Morgan out in the hallway.

”Have you heard?” Aaron’s eyes are frantic.

”Heard what?”

”Rick.”

”What about him?”

”He killed Pete.”

Daryl looks puzzled at Aaron, then Morgan, who nods.

”You didn’t know?”

”Well, now I do. Why?”

”We arrived just when it happened. It was chaos. Daryl, Pete killed Reg.”

Daryl had set his sights on the hospital when he arrived at Alexandria with the woman in his arms, but met Denise on the way and took Mila to the house instead. It was closer. He had no thought of seeking out Rick. And now Pete and Reg are dead.

”You have to tell her.” Daryl jerks his head against the closed bedroom door. ”You gotta tell Denise.”

Aaron nods, still visibly shaken.

”Did he see it?”

”The boy?” Aaron shakes his head. ”No. Thank god. I’ll tell her right away.”

They re-enters the bedroom. Denise sits on the bed and observes the newcomers; Juri has curled up at his mother’s arm, twisting her hair between his fingers with heavy eyelids, as if he’s about to fall asleep any second. Mila coos to him in the foreign language Daryl doesn’t recognize (ain’t Spanish at least) while caressing the blonde hair.

”Well, he seems unharmed.” Denise smiles at the boy. ”I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some sleep now.”

Denise leaves the room with her medical kit. Daryl nods to Aaron, who follows her downstairs. Morgan and Daryl remains in the doorway.

”You should have said something.” Morgan walks up to the bed. He pats Mila softly on the hand. ”I’m glad you’re awake.”

”Sorry.” the young woman smiles tiredly at her friend. ”Next time.”

”Let’s hope there won’t be a next.” Morgan smiles. ”You should get some rest. Both of you.”

Morgan walks past Daryl with the staff in his hand, out of the room and down the stairs. All of a sudden Daryl’s alone with them, with Mila and the boy. Daryl’s been taken off guard during their whole encounter, but the sight of the kid earlier, when he climbed out of the abandoned car put him off his guard completely. And his saucy mom. Mila lifts her peering blue gaze at him.

”Ehrm, thanks.” she says. ”For… taking me here.”

”No mention.” Daryl walks over to the chair again and sits down. ”How did ya’ end up together?”

”Morgan, you mean? I found him, or, ambushed at a church a while ago. We were headed to Washington to find his friend, Rick, when we stumbled upon you two. Morgan is Morgan and desperately wanted to save you, everybody- didn’t go that well last night.” Mila looks down at the bandages around her waist. ”Everything was fine, and then we were attacked.” she chuckles faintly, ironic. ”He really gets on my nerves with his precious life-crap sometimes. I suspect it was the same group that trapped you that attacked us.”

”Probably.” Daryl replies. ”Why didn’t you tell ’em you were hurt?”

”Do you have kids?”

He shakes his head.

”I didn’t want to worry them. Mostly Juri. That’s my life nowadays, to keep him safe, happy and protected. If not, what kind of mother am I? It was stupid. But you do stupid things for those you love.”

Mila looks down at the sleeping child, faintly snoring against her arm and combing her fingers through the blond mane. The small leather boots with yellow rubber sole lie scattered on the bed. He’s neatly dressed, fed and clean. Must be a full-time job to keep that up.

”He seems fine though, I mean… despite, ya know… earlier.” Daryl says sheepishly. His own experience with kids is to say the least frugal. Besides Carl, Judith and Sophia he has never been around kids his entire life. Her, being alone with a toddler through a lot of this, surprises him. The boy appears angelic and hasn’t said a word, nor cried, since they met and there has been several good reasons for him to panic and cry since then. ”Juri, was it?”

”Mhm.” Mila looks up at him, a soft flush has returned to her cheeks. ”Daryl, right?”

”Dixon.” he replies. ”You?”

”Mila, Sergeyevna.”

“You’re Russian or something?”

“Yeah, or something.”

That explains the accent and her rolling r’s, he’s never heard anything like it before. There isn’t the slightest trace of a strong southern accent in-between the tongue rollings and ’ze’s’; so where does she come from?

”You’re from ’round here?” 

“New Jersey.” Mila replies, in a badly hidden yawn. ”Came here a couple of years ago. And you, where are you from?”

”Georgia. Born and raised.” Daryl studies her from his spot; her eyelids look heavy. Denice must’ve given her something pretty good. ”Ya’ should get some rest.” he leans back in the chair.

”And you are going to sit there?”

”It’s my room.” he shrugs his shoulders and slides down in the chair. ”Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t bleed out tonight.”

She smiles faintly at him, yet warm, which causes his cheeks to feel all heated; is he blushing? Fuckin’ hell. She scoots down on the pillow and grimaces badly when the boy puts his arm over her wound. Without a word, still grimacing, she moves the arm a little to the side, tucks him in under the covers. In the warm glow from the lamp on the bedside table the blonde hair glows like gold. Daryl reaches for the light switch on the wall, pushes it downwards and the room turns dark, with the bedside lamp as the only light source, casting its warm, faint glow over the room. Seconds later her eyelids are closed and she’s asleep, as if she hasn’t slept for ages. The boy snorts faintly. What’s their story? Who is she? What’s Rick gonna say? Yeah, what about him. He executed Pete. Reg’s dead. What a fucking mess. Daryl looks back at the newcomers, asleep in the bed, his bed.

”’night, Jersey.” Daryl says out in the quiet, dark room.


	5. Jersey on my mind (Part 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The former sheriff Rick Grimes finds out who the woman Daryl saved is, at breakfast, in bed. Jeez Louise...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.  
> I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.  
> I hope you will like the story.

The man standing in front of Mila and Juri is tall, slim, in his early forties. His eyes wander between the two of them on the bed. The stubble begins to grey, as is the wavy hair, pulled back towards the neck. The shirt is a washed out shade of blue. With the same precision as if she were an X-ray, Milas gaze wanders over Rick Grimes; the cop shirt, the graying hair and the blue eyes. 

He entered the room in the company of Daryl, Aaron and a young woman just as Denise helped her pull her tank top down over the fresh bandage around her waist. Quickly, Juri climbed over Mila to the other side of the bed, hid behind her and the pillows, watching the trio entering the room; like a critter jumping out of sight from a predator. Wide eyed, the three and a half year old carefully climbed into her lap, as soon as the coast was clear, where he started to twist a loop of her long hair between his thumb and index finger.

Not that much earlier that morning Mila had been awakened by Denise, who came to check on them and clean her wounds. The armchair beside the bed was empty, Daryl was gone and the room was filled with sunlight. Denise had even brought them breakfast. Sandwiches and orange juice. Juri’s eyes widened at the sight of the juice and he took the glass in-between his hands as if it was filled with liquid gold. He was in a good spirit after a full night’s sleep in a real, fresh bed, instead of the backseat of a car. Mila however felt as if she had been overrun by a train at least eight times. She could barely move and had to get help from Denise to manage to sit up against the pillows. Denise cut the bandage open, cleaned and inspected the wound.

”Give it a few days, and rest. You may need it.” was her verdict when she was finished.

Juri ate his sandwich under satisfied silence while Mila was once again wrapped in bandage. He mimed to her over the glass filled with orange juice that she looked like a mummy. Then he ate Mila’s sandwich too. Mila didn’t mind, she was in so much pain that she didn’t feel hunger, more like throwing up or going back to sleep for a week. But nope, she had to be interrogated by a, what she thinks, former cop, in bed. Great. 

”We have to send out scouts.” Rick breaks the silence and turns to Daryl. ”Morgan said they might know we’re here.”

”Can’t be good news.” Daryl says.

”Attacks, traps.” Rick nods towards her. ”It will escalate.”

”We don’t know how many there are.” the woman with brown hair and green eyes, who introduced herself as Maggie, says.

”Roughly estimated, ten maybe.” Mila interposes. ”There may be more. Smaller groups don’t act like that.”

”And you didn’t kill them?”

”If I had to decide, they’d be dead. But now I happen to travel with the man who thinks he’s Gandhi, so-” Mila gives Rick a meaningful look. ”They’re alive. Probably. If they haven’t been eaten. Personally I don’t fucking care how, I just hope they’re dead.”

Maggie grins amused and Rick seems to understand what she means.

”Yeah, got that impression too.” he says and turns to Daryl. ”We have to stop the scouting missions, until we have control over the situation.”

Daryl looks reluctant by Rick’s words.

”That’s necessary?”

”We don’t know how many there are.”

”So? Should we just sit and wait?”

”We are going to look for that group. If we run on someone, fine, but the main focus is on locating those people.”

The broad, grouch hunter looks, if possible, even more grouchy. Mila assumes that it was his mission; possibly even his only mission in this community. And he doesn’t seem to be the type who can sit down and relax with a book.

”Before you met Morgan-” Rick continues and looks at her. “You were with a group?”

”Not really.”

”That means?”

”Means that I was on my own, with him.” Mila twitches her head towards Juri, who has started drinking from her glass of juice too. ”I’m trying to keep us alive. I was going to find my family, but I think I’m about to run out of luck on that one. Then I met Morgan.”

”What happened to them?”

”I don’t know. They’re gone.”

”I was told you’re from New Jersey?”

”Little Silver, Red Banks area.”

”And your accent? Where’s it from?”

”Russia.”

Maggie meets the sheriff’s eyes, and Mila meets Daryl’s for the first time since the night before; even though he’s grumpy to the point of no return he almost blushes when she fixes him with her eyes.

”We need extra muscles.” Maggie points out. ”If that group is out there-”

”I never said anything about it.” Rick insists. ”You’re welcome to stay. If you want. Morgan too.”

Mila looks at Juri. She hasn’t interacted with anyone else than him, except Morgan, in- has it really been months? It’s been the two of them through it all, good and bad, every hour of the day. She would do anything to protect him, to keep him safe. If that means she has to stay here for a while; Morgan’s quest was to find Rick in Washington, D.C. He has found Rick, but not in Washington. Mila hasn’t had a goal for a long time now, except to hopefully run into her family, miraculously. But beyond that, she went where Morgan went, because she had no other, better, goal with her life right now. He became her and Juri’s friend, a loyal companion that she could talk to when Juri was asleep, about grown up things; the world order, life and all its sorrows and joys.

This wasn’t the plan, despite the fact that she never had a plan; not since her entire life collapsed a few months ago, then another time, and a third. Her life since then has been about surviving, to keep on living for Juri’s sake - despite all that’s happened she never thought she’d end up in a situation, or a place, like this; in a Safe-Zone surrounded by people, taken there by a man with a crossbow she doesn’t know shit about, but still didn’t hesitate to save her life. 

”How’s the-” Rick gestures towards her so called ’mummy tummy’; Juri’s figment. Whatever it’s called it really hurts. 

”Like being run over by a train.” Mila replies and adjusts herself in the bed, does her best to seem pristine. ”But I’ll be okay. Don’t recommend it though. But I’d kill for a smoke.”

Grimes gives her a wry smile. She rarely smokes, only in emergency situations; Mila ogles at the bandages. This should be considered an excellent emergency.

”We’ll get you that. Anything else?”

Mila puts her hands over Juri’s ears, who picks up bread crumbs from the bedspread.

”There’s an almost empty bottle of vodka in my backpack. If you get me a new one I’d be forever grateful.”


	6. Jersey on my mind (Part 6)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback: Mila drowns her sorrows in a parking lot, while Juri's asleep. She is interrupted in the drinking, and is given a glimmer of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.  
> I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.  
> I hope you will like the story.

She has parked the car along a small road somewhere in the small town of Cherokee, North Carolina, for the night. Outside the car window, and inside, it’s pitch black, except for the faintly lit wheels on the car radio. Somewhat protected, thanks to the surrounding vegetation next to the Oconaluftee River, near a deserted parking lot, Mila considered it safe for them to spend the night. Yeah, seems calm enough, she thinks and tries her best to see something out there in the darkness. It may as well be because she’s drunk beyond all judgment by now. 

Mila pulls her hand over her face and holds up the bottle with the transparent liquid in front of her. The large Stolichnaya vodka bottle is less than half full by now. The vodka has disappeared as Mila’s mind has become more and more restful, stunned. She doesn’t feel anything and it’s fantastic. Wonderful even. Why can’t she feel nothing, all the time? From the back seat she hears Juri’s calm breathing. He has already slept for a couple of hours. Sometimes he snores. 

Mila herself has drowned her grief and anxiety in alcohol for the last months, ever since they left that run down motel somewhere in Missouri. A ritual she repeats every night. As soon as Juri is asleep, she starts drinking. Crying and drinking. After awhile she’s all out of tears, dry behind her eyes as the fucking Sahara desert. Then she drinks more, until she’s stunned. She has cried herself through ten states by now during their almost 5,000 miles long journey without a final destination. Thank goodness for the Russian genes, she thinks and takes another sip from the bottle. Superstition or not; Mila is convinced that it’s the only reason she isn’t mercilessly hung over, every fucking day. Of course Juri knows she drinks. Mila casts a glance to the backseat, at the beautiful little boy. As long as she takes care of him, everything is fine. That’s what she lives for. The only reason why she doesn’t wade out into the river and lets herself be swept away. Mila drops into the seat and puts her feet on each side of the steering wheel, on top of the dashboard. Her eyes are burning, and she feels dry and swollen. It can’t be healthy to cry this much. But that’s the only thing she can do. On the inside she’s broken. Devastated. She reaches for the radio and presses ’play’ on the cassette player. Through the scratchy speakers, she faintly hears the familiar tones of the guitar, then the piano and a tambourine. Rosanne Cash’s voice feels as if someone had pressed a knife into her heart and twisted it.

”Just one more kiss, she’ll have to miss this night with you. Now you’re guilty of this secret love, as I am too. You’ll get used to telling lies, feeling sorry when she cries …”

Mila closes her eyes, brings the bottle to her mouth and drinks. Dreams herself away to another reality, what should be.

Their song. One of many. But his eyes always turned dark, soft, like melted chocolate as it began to play. And she loved it. Loved how that big, strong man turned all soft. Jim was a big puppy in reality. Like when he entered the bar she worked part time at in Brighton Beach in Brooklyn, or Little Odessa as the locals called it. It’s a long time ago now, but she remembers it like it was yesterday. The owner was about to faint at the sight of him; completely convinced that he was a hired torpedo; a big guy, dressed in black suit. No, Jim was there to meet her, and it happened to be after his job at a security company. Mila thought he looked like James Bond, totally different from her first sight ever of him, when he didn’t wear a shirt at all. Yep, she was besotted. She ended up talking to him for hours, leaned up at the other side of the bar, completely neglecting the other visitors, to the sound of Rosanne Cash.

Crap, Mila feels something wet run down her cheek. Hasn’t she already cried seas of tears by now? She’ll turn into a raisin if this continues. To keep up with the loss of fluid Mila chugs the last drops from the bottle. There must be a reason why vodka means water for life, right? Carefully she removes the photo from the backside of the sun visor and holds it close in front of her, to be able to see the faces in the picture through the darkness. Herself, with her arms around Jim’s neck. It’s from one of their hikes to Harriman State Park. He always looked so handsome. Always wore denim shirts, was always seen holding a cup of coffee and-

Mila twitches as the cassette tape is ejected from the radio. She doesn’t bother to flip it over. She’ll fall asleep soon anyway. Softly she caresses the surface of the picture, where Jim’s face smiles up at her. Why the hell did he have to die? That’s not how it was supposed to be. They had planned everything. Her life would turn for the better, at last. No, for perfection. They would grow old together, sit on a porch on a farm somewhere in Oklahoma and talk about their amazing life, all their memories. Mojave Desert. Yosemite. Yellowstone. Graceland, Nashville country music festival… Traveling around the country in a camper van. It sounded so amazing when they talked about it. And then he died and left her and Juri all alone with their plans and dreams, leaving her torn between wanting to die and wanting to keep Juri safe. She couldn’t do that to him. She had to live on.

The radio starts to crackle. Mila adjusts the wheel, to tune in another station that isn’t white noice. Not that there’s a working radio station in these times, but at least there are some that are dead quiet.

”Termmm…”

It’s as if she has sat on a needle. Mila jumps in the driver’s seat at the sound. What the fuck?! She gets her legs down from the dashboard. In the matter of seconds she’s wide awake, almost as clear as if she would have been sober, and stares at the radio as if it talked to her. But it did! It talked to her! Completely still she listens, without breathing.

”Termnnzzzz…”

The signal is weak. Quickly Mila starts to tune in the signal, tries desperately to make it clearer.

”Terminus, those who arrive survive.”

A voice comes through.

”Terminus, those who arrive survive.”

It can’t be? Is it possible? Has she reached the point of being drunk, where she hallucinates and hears voices? She looks back at Juri in the backseat. He’s still asleep underneath his blankets, peaceful. She turns back to the radio. A sanctuary? Really. The female voice repeats the same line, followed by what sounds like coordinates over the crackling radio frequency. I need paper, Mila thinks, and desperately starts to look around in the dark small space. She finds one of Juri’s crayons in-between the seats and an old receipt on the dashboard. With her heart beating rapidly in her chest Mila manages to scribble the directions in pitch darkness, before the raspy one-way radio broadcasts dies. White noise follows. Mila convulsively grips the small piece of paper and the wheel in front of her. Her head spins, she feels almost nauseated. There are others. Other people. A safe place somewhere around Atlanta, Georgia.

She struggles against the vodka to try to determine where in the country she is, without having to look for a map, light a flashlight and wake Juri. But curiosity takes over, and her geographical knowledge of America is limited. Mila falls over, a result of the influence of the liquor, as she reaches over to the glove compartment, and takes out a bundle of folded tourist maps. She lights the flashlight and awaits a reaction from Juri. But he’s deep asleep and Mila turns her attention back to the map, struggling desperately to focus her gaze. She should have eaten better before she started juggling booze. After a while she manages to find the state they are currently in, edge to edge with Georgia. She is about to burst into tears again. How lucky?! Mila puts the map aside, drops into the driver’s seat and looks at the roof, eyelids are getting heavy.

”It’s going to be alright, Juri.” she whispers into the empty car. ”It’s going to be alright.”


	7. Jersey on my mind (Part 7)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl gets lost in thoughts during a walk in the woods; Who the hell is this Mila Sergeyevna really? Thoughts turns into action as the feisty chick tags along on a run for gas with him. Well, not just the two of them...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.I hope you will like the story.

The grass underneath his worn out boots rustles as Daryl makes his way through the overgrown vegetation, back towards Alexandria. The tall leafy trees, stretching towards the sky, makes the sunlight dance over the area. He scans the surroundings, between the trees and beyond, as he makes his way through the grass, scouting for movement. 

He’s more than familiar with the woods. He knows every sound and tracks, can smell trouble miles away; which in this case means walkers. To be honest, it’s not very difficult. The scent of the rotten bastards is hard to miss out; an odor similar to old meat, that has been left out in the heat. He’s been out on these runs now for many times and yet, it’s different now, since about forty-eight hours. Maybe it’s because of the hostile group lurking around in the woods. Maybe it’s because of the three newcomers. Or a combination of both. Regardless, Daryl’s job, his only job in Alexandria has been taken away from him because of the Wolves. What a stupid name, he thinks and scoffs. Because of them he can’t explore the surroundings as before. Roam around the woods, killing walkers, trying to shoot some deers or squirrels. Find survivors.

Daryl stops when he hears the faint chirping of a bird, some sort of woodpecker, followed by another familiar sound. Tiny paws against wood. A squirrel. He clearly sees it about five or six meters in front of him, clinging to the trunk of a birch. It’s brightly auburn colored with a fluffy tail, its small nose trembles in the air. Daryl raises his crossbow, aims and pulls the trigger. The arrow cuts through the air. But the little critter reacts faster. Before the sharp arrow hits the target, the squirrel jumps up the tree, out of sight. 

”Fuck.”

Daryl strides over to the tree, pulls the arrow out of the branch. The forest around him is ever so calm. No walkers or Wolves as far as he can see. Just endless greenery and a happy squirrel. 

He continues to walk back to Alexandria. The early morning has turned into lunchtime and he’s been out for a couple of hours already. He left early, before Rick could stop him. Daryl has slept on the sofa in the living room for two nights, letting Jersey and Jersey junior take his bed. Twice a day Daryl has seen Denise come over to the house to check on the ’scrapbooking project’ (a term that got the otherwise low-key woman to give him the evil eye). Carol has served them meals three times a day on a tray and both Rick and Maggie have been visiting. 

Daryl, on the other hand, has not been up there once since Rick announced that the scouting missions for other survivors should stop and Mila asked for vodka. Vodka he took it upon himself to find, as an excuse to have something to do, now when scouting for survivors wasn’t an option. Great, I’ve become a booze courier for a Russian Jerseyite, Daryl thinks to himself. Well, he ain’t going to find vodka out in the woods, that’s for sure.

As soon as he enters the perimeter surrounding the Safe-Zone, he steers his steps towards the house, assigned for them. He notices that the curtains to the bedroom on the second floor, his bedroom, are separated. Are they awake? 

Daryl had actually been up there once to check on them. Gently he had glanced at the door, but found the room half-dark and Mila and Juri in deep sleep. As far as he understood it, and what little he heard from Carol, they slept a lot.

”No wonder she’s tired.” his friend said while preparing a lunch tray for them. ”Those first years with a kid, you don’t get much sleep.” 

Well, maybe they have caught up with the sleep schedule finally. Daryl continues to look up at the window and the curtains. At the same moment, the front door to the two story house opens and Rick steps out onto the porch. His gaze meets Daryls and he walks down the stairs to meet him.

”All good.” Daryl says, as to explain that he knows he shouldn’t have left the grounds, but it went well, so there’s nothing to fight about. ”Didn’t come across anyone.”

”Fine.” Rick stops in front of him. ”I need your help today. We need gasoline refills. We can’t risk being left without and we’ll need it for the quarry.”

Yeah, Daryl had almost forgotten about it. In two days they will lure hundreds, thousands, walkers from the quarry and away from the Safe-Zone. Rick and Morgan discovered the quarry when they were going to bury Pete’s body. They quickly realized that the only reason Alexandria was spared from walkers, was because the quarry serves as a trap, but it now represents a serious threat for the community. What if the barricades breaches? Rick’s plan is to lure the walkers 20 miles away from the Safe-Zone. It’s risky and dangerous, but Daryl couldn’t help but feel excited when Rick explained the plan to them. Excitement of something finally happening in this place. Something other than looking for survivors, and they’re not even allowed to do that anymore. Admittedly, they were presented with yet another threat, in the form of a hostile group calling themselves the Wolves, come on; what a stupid name! But the feeling of adrenaline pumping through the body…

Daryl nods. 

”I’ll do it.”

”Good.” 

They start walking back to the house. The small community has woken up. People are out in the streets and the birds are chirping from the rooftops. The front door to the gray house opens again and Daryl shrugs as Mila steps out onto the porch. He wasn’t prepared for that. A fresh color has returned to her face and she’s walking surprisingly upright considering the extensive wound. She’s wearing jeans, a button down shirt and the long hair dances around her in the breeze. 

”She’s up?” 

”Mhm.” Rick says. ”Stumbled down the stairs and wanted to have breakfast at the table. She seems to feel better.”

Daryl grunts. 

”You brought them back.” Rick looks at him. ”They’re alive and well. You did your job.”

Daryl doesn’t answer. They have reached the porch. Where should he focus his gaze? He tries to fixate his gaze at the door behind her, but his eyes are automatically drawn to Mila, who peers back at him. 

”Mornin’.” he says sheepishly.

”It’s lunch time.” 

”Wasn’t when I got up.” 

Duh. The hell is wrong with him? The corner of Mila’s mouth turns slightly upwards. 

”Touché, Einstein.” she smirks. ”Are you going somewhere?” 

”We need gas.” Rick explains. He then looks at Daryl with a look he can’t place. ”Bring her with ya’.” Rick meets Mila’s gaze again. ”If you’re up for it.”

Daryl wants to say that he can do it on his own. He’s not a damn kid! But his tongue is stuck to the palate. Is Rick out of his mind? Two days ago she could barely sit up. Does he expect her to carry five gallon cans of gasoline? That’s exactly what Daryl manages to ask, when he manages to use his tongue again. Mila rolls her eyes at his words. 

”I can shoot.” she declares with great confidence. ”I’ll get my gun.”

Her long hair sweeps behind her as she disappears back into the house. Daryl turns to Rick.

”Ya’ out of your damn mind?” he scoffs at his friend. “What if she gets hurt? She’s already hurt!”

Rick raises his eyebrow, but says nothing. Daryl looks away, to hide his blushing cheeks. Go away on his own with her. That’s not what he had in mind when Rick asked him to get gas. Fuck. Rick pats him on the shoulder. Couldn’t he have brought Aaron? Or Carol? Anyone would be better than the Russian Jersey girl now. Shortly afterwards, the door reopens and Mila steps out on the porch again, followed by Juri in a pair of dungarees. She’s wearing the fedora and carries some type of AK47 on her shoulder. Daryl’s gaze wanders between the hat and the little boy looking at him with the angelic face. 

”We’re ready.” Mila states.

”What’s he doing here?” Daryl nods towards Juri. 

”Oh. He’s coming with us.” Mila replies and grabs Juri’s little hand. The boy looks calm, the complete opposite of how Daryl feels. ”Well then, shall we?”


	8. Jersey on my mind (Part 8)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mila is amused by the surly, but not very talkative archer’s company during their trip to the gas station. Not even The Allman Brothers seems to cheer him up. Hm, tough cookie...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.I hope you will like the story.

While humming along to The Allman Brothers Band, Mila increases the speed, drumming on the steering wheel. She feels excited. Spending two days in bed was enough to make her feel better, more well rested than she’d felt in months. Of course, she’s in pain to the point where she could vomit, but that didn’t stop her from crawling out of bed that morning. 

She got herself dressed, or more like wrestled the clothes onto her body, before crashing down the stairs. Carol cooked breakfast in the kitchen. Rick sat at the breakfast table, with Carl, Michonne, Morgan, Glenn and a big red-haired man with an astonishing mustache, who introduced himself as Abraham. She and Juri had, on occasions when they were awake, been visited by all sorts of people. Carol brought them meals and was happy to sit down and talk to them. She had also offered to prepare a bubble bath for Juri, when Denise checked on Mila’s wound. Glenn and Maggie had dropped by to give her cigarettes, no vodka though, and sat down and talked for a while. Michonne and Carl kept her and Juri company in the evenings.

Though in isolation in the bedroom, Mila found out everything she could about the community outside from the others. It sounded like a soap opera. The same night Daryl had brought her there, people had died. The leader of the community, Deanna, had lost her husband and the man in charge, Pete, had also been killed. Deanna had broken down by grief, understandably, and left all responsibility to Rick. And as that was not enough, Rick and Morgan had discovered a quarry filled with walkers. One thing was certain, there wasn’t a shortage of drama. 

And then there was the enigmatic archer, Daryl Dixon, whom she hadn’t seen in days. Well, until now.

Mila looks at the man in the passenger seat. He has stopped moping over the fact that she insisted on driving, but has remained silent. Every now and then he has given short commands about where to drive. Otherwise, he’s been silent. Mila hasn’t taken note. Instead, she pushed one of her cassette tapes into the car stereo, to Juris delight. In the rear-view mirror she sees how he nods his head side to side with the music. He loves music. That walkman he got for his second birthday was truly a blessing. It has been very helpful when Mila needs to ward off walkers, it keeps him occupied, shielded off from the gruesomeness to an extent.

”What exactly is this quarry?” Mila breaks the silence and looks at Daryl. ”Everybody’s talking about it.”

”A quarry.” Daryl shrugs.

“Yeah. Thanks. What else?” 

“A couple of hundred dead bastards trapped down there.” Daryl says. ”The barricade may burst. We need to lead them away.”

”Ah.” Mila searches Daryl’s gaze. ”Hey, I didn’t lie when I said I’m a good shooter.”

”Never said you weren’t.”

”Well then you can stop moping about me tagging along?”

”Was it really wise to bring the kid?”

”The kid-” Mila gives Daryl a sharp gaze. ”has a name. And he’s my responsibility. I bring him along everywhere. Besides, he wanted to come.”

Daryl looks away, his gaze wanders to the rear view mirror.

”Ya’ alright?” he says towards Juri, expects an answer, but Juri just nods back at him. ”Not that talkative?” Daryl asks.

Mila smiles as Juri makes a grimace, frowns a little and the side of his mouth goes up. Daryl looks like he doesn’t know what to say. Probably he thinks that one doesn’t need to say more than necessary. So far, he’s a living example of that.

”He’s mute.” Mila says frugally. ”Believe me, I’ve tried everything. Ice cream. Candy. Toys. But he’s stubborn.” she smiles at the boy in the backseat. ”Your time is coming, malenkiy. Perhaps.”

After a while she’s instructed to stop the car along the road. The road is blocked by at least a dozen cars. They have to walk the last bit to the gas station. Daryl shows the way. The broad-shouldered hunter strides on at a rapid pace and has to stop many times to wait for them; Juri scurries while Mila walks at a decent walking pace. She’s in no hurry and, to be honest, she’s out of breath from being wounded. Despite his farouche, grumpy attitude, Daryl Dixon seems harmless. A crude hunter, but innocuous. Juri hurries up next to him as best as his short leg manages. He’s curious with the big man, but it might as well be the crossbow in his big hand. Mila can’t be sure. A few seconds later Juri turns his head towards her and makes the sign for ‘bowman’, then points at Daryl.

”He likes your crossbow.” Mila calls at Daryl’s back.

Daryl slows down and looks at Juri, who scurries next to him.

”Thanks.” he replies, slightly uncertain. As if he doesn’t completely knows what it means to be mute or how on earth to communicate with him. ”Yeah…”

”You can talk to him.” Mila calls. ”He is not deaf.”

”I know that!” Daryl mutters, though Mila can see more than well that he absolutely didn’t know.

Juri, that little rascal, doesn’t make the situation better. His angelic face turns into a cheeky, incredibly charming, laugh. Daryl grunts, and shoves him lightly. Juri lets out a laugh, one of very few sounds he actually manages to utter, and shoves him back.

”He can laugh?” Daryl looks surprised.

”Also the only thing he can do, or say.” Mila says and walks up next to them. ”He’s also a snorer.”

”How old is he-” Daryl asks firstly towards Mila, before remembering that Juri can understand him perfectly, and turns the question towards the boy instead. ”How old are you?”

Juri lifts three fingers and wiggles a fourth. Those six months are very important. Then he points at Daryl, as to ask how old he is.

”Ain’t got that many fingers, kiddo.” Daryl replies.

Mila smiles. She observes the broad man with the crossbow. He’s a big guy, tall, muscular and rough. The hair is messy, the stubble looks a few days old and the eyes are melange, with elements of green and blue. He wears a worn out ripped shirt, biker west and cargos. A bit rough overall. But on the other hand, Mila probably wouldn’t have cared that much either if she didn’t have Juri to take care of, making sure that he is clean and dressed. Although he belongs to a community of people, he doesn’t seem completely comfortable socially, talking to her.

They reach the abandoned gas station a few minutes later, in the middle of a parking lot, surrounded by a supermarket, a coffee shop and a liquor store. Mila’s eyes are drawn to the liquor store and she immediately gets very, very thirsty. There’s no living soul around when they arrive, no dead ones either for that matter. They pass an abandoned Chevy with punctured tires, standing in the middle of the road and heading towards the pump stations next to the convenience store. Three emptied vending machines are lined up against a wall, with glass scattered around.

”First and second pair of pumps are out of order.” Daryl says, pointing toward the two remaining, working pumps. ”I’ll get a can.”

”I’ll go to the liquor store.”

Daryl gives her a suspicious look, before he starts walking towards the convenience store. Mila looks down at Juri.

”You wanna go with me or him?”

Juri looks at her, then casts a glance towards the convenience store. He knows very well that he can find sweets and chocolate bars there. And at the end of the world, his mother can’t deny him sweets. To Mila’s relief, Juri scurries after Daryl, as fast as his short legs can. 

Mila exhales and pulls her hands over her face. Shame and guilt washes over her, but she quickly shakes it off and walks toward the liquor store. She should stop drinking, for Juri’s sake. But in the current situation it has been almost impossible. The booze suppresses the overwhelming anxiety and grief she carries around inside of her. How else is she going to handle those feelings without her dying from practically feeling too much? Booze keeps her in balance in a fucked up way, but it could also be just an excuse for her to have a drink, any time of the day. 

Brusquely, she opens the glass door to the store and raises the rifle in front of her, in case a walker would find it funny to surprise her.


	9. Jersey on my mind (Part 9)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl tries to tackle a mute toddler on the hunt for Reese’s peanut butter cups and his alcoholic, injured mother carrying a backpack full of vodka, plus his own perplexed feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.I hope you will like the story.

Daryl pushes the out of function automatic doors open and takes a step into the convenience store. He looks around, lets his eyes pass half-empty shelves and broken fridges for soda and bottled water. It’s dead quiet, except- Daryl turns around. Juri stands right behind him and looks curiously into the store, hands deep in the pockets of the dungarees. Where did Mila go? He looks over Juri and sees the door to the liquor store door closing. Great. He looks down at Juri again. 

”Okay, kiddo. Stay behind.” 

Juri nods obediently and Daryl turns to the store again. Cautiously he takes a step further into the empty store. But he hears nothing, no hissing noises, no dragging steps. The coast is clear. He turns and nods at the boy, who walks into the store and steers towards the shelves with candy. Daryl directs his steps to the section of the store with washer fluid, car wash tools and gas cans. Does she usually let the boy go away on her own? Probably not, she seems like the protective type of mother. What made her let the boy run after him then? Does she trust him, Daryl? His cheeks suddenly turn all warm, again. Damn it. He takes a red five gallon can from the bottom shelf and walks over to the shelves with candy. On his way out he grabs two bottles of water from one of the dead fridges. Juri methodically goes from one end of the chocolate bar shelf to the other. There is not much left, but he is still careful about what he chooses. How does muteness even work? God he felt stupid before, he had no fucking idea what it meant to be mute. The little nose wrinkles at the sight of a raisin bar. 

”Hadn’t chosen it either.” Daryl says. ”Found any Mars? Snickers?”

Juri points to a plastic bag on the floor. There are about ten Snickers bars in the bag, along with KitKat bars and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Daryl gives him a thumbs up. What do you talk to mute three year olds about? 

“You’re tough, kiddo.” Daryl says and grabs a Snickers bar from a shelf, opens it and takes a bite. “Your mom too. And stubborn…” 

At that moment he sees something in the corner of his eye. Mila is back, holding the rifle. 

”Ready to get some gas?” she asks.

”All good to go.” Daryl says and holds up the metal can. 

They leave the convenience store and head for the pumps. Mila’s backpack looks moderately heavier than before, filled with Juri’s bag of chocolate bars and, what Daryl thinks, a few bottles of vodka. He doubts that she uses it as mouthwash. Daryl’s just about to start filling the red metal can with gas when Mila exclaims:

”We have a visitor.”

A limping figure, whose skin is reminiscent of sour milk to the color, hurls himself against them from behind the corner of the supermarket. Daryl puts his hand on the crossbow, ready to take it out, but instead he gets Mila’s rifle pressed into his solar plexus.

”You fix gas, I take care of him.” Mila pulls a knife from the shaft of her boot. ”Look away, Malish.” she says softly to Juri, who clings to her jeans. 

Obediently, Juri puts his hands over his eyes. With determined steps, Mila goes to meet the walker. With impressive finesse she stabs it in its neck, bringing it down on the pavement, where she finishes him off by inserting the knife deep into its ear canal. She stands up, noticeably unmoved by her action, albeit clumsy and probably in pain due to the fact that her midsection is wrapped up like a Christmas present, and walks back to them. Daryl continues to fill the tank under silence. He doesn’t know what to say. It’s like being in the presence of a tornado and he feels dazed, like after a rollercoaster ride. Mila exhales and leans up against the petrol pump. Sweat runs down her forehead. 

”Here.” Daryl hands her one of the water bottles. ”Couldn’t find any cold ones.”

She takes the bottle, unscrews the lid and drinks, before handing it to Juri. 

”I thought I had better, what’s the word? Physical… stamina than this.” she says and wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. 

”Ya’ also thought ya’ were a great medic.”

”Yeah that was pretty dumb.” she chuckles and meets his gaze. ”What was it you called it, scrapbooking?”

Daryl quickly looks away. Mila chuckles.

”I heard about it. Denice told me.” 

”Didn’t mean it-”

”I didn’t think you had humor.” Mila says and nods towards her stomach. ”Juri calls it the ’mummy tummy’. I don’t know which bad name for it I prefer.” 

Daryl can’t help but grin. He puts the gas pump back and screws on the cork to the gas can. When he lifts the heavy can, a rhythmic clucking sound is heard when the gasoline hits the metal on the inside. He’ll probably have to go back and get another can or two tomorrow, but for now this will do. Besides, Mila seems a bit wobbly. 

They start to walk back to the car in slow pace, passing overgrown lawns, abandoned vehicles and houses. A rusty swing set cries out for attention from children that no longer plays on it. A shopping cart lies on the sidewalk and walkers are scattered around the ground like the first yellow leaves of autumn. Juri scurries a few meters in front of them. The blonde hair bounces around his head. Every now and then he turns, to make sure they are following. 

”Where have you been, by the way?” 

”Huh?” Daryl turns his focus back to Mila. ”What?”

”I haven’t seen you since I was interrogated, in bed. Where have you been? What do you do? I practically know everyone else by now… almost. You saved my life. I wanna… talk.”

”Haven’t ya’ been sleeping for, two days straight?” Daryl scoffs.

”You could have dropped by?”

”What do ya’ wanna know anyway?” 

Daryl glances her. Why is she so determined to talk to him? What does she want to know, and why? There’s nothing to know. He’s a nobody. Besides, he can’t talk with her. Obviously it’s completely impossible for him to have a normal, intelligent, conversation with this person. And yet, although he feels like the biggest idiot in the world in Mila’s presence, he’s quite comfortable in her company, or their company. It may be because he stayed away from them, didn’t do as the others and checked up on them. Just because he’s, what? A social misfit? Whatever he is; here they are, walking past rotting corpses side by side, talking to each other. How ‘bout that. 

Daryl raises his gaze. Mila’s eyes glow like sapphires in the sunlight, peering at him underneath the brim of the hat. 

”What do ya’ wanna know?”

”Like, did you pick the unusually boring wall color I was forced to stare at while in bed?” 

”Shut it, Jersey.”

”Okay. Take me to the quarry then.” Mila responds.

”Why?” 

”Because, I want to see what the fuss is about.” Mila lifts the backpack and rifle higher up on her shoulders and grunts when she stretches her abdomen wrongly. ”Did you say thousand?”

”Ya’ think I count them?” he waves his hand at her. ”Come on, give me the backpack.”

”No, why?” 

”Because you’re weak and will collapse any goddamn’ second. Hand it over.” Daryl waves his hand in front of her again, to show her that he’s serious. “Come on.”

Mila sighs and crawls out of the shoulder straps. Daryl throws the clinking backpack over his shoulder. 

”Great. Let’s go look at the dead bastards.”


	10. Jersey on my mind (part 10)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What can happen during a big dinner party in the middle of a zombie apocalypse?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.I hope you will like the story.

When the darkness falls over the Safe-Zone, Mila gets Juri into a new jumper and combs his hair, to prepare him for eating dinner with the others, for the first time. Mila feels nervous, her hands are shaking as she makes sure the striped knitted jumper looks representable. Not that anyone Not that anyone will say something about it, but it’s in her nature. In the mother’s milk. With a smile, as she combs her fingers through her blonde hair, Mila thinks of her own mother. Mama. How she, no matter how little they had, even though they were not really poor, made sure that Mila always had nice and clean clothes, kept her hair brushed and was fed proper food. Juri takes her hand, squeezes it between his and looks her deep in the eyes. They share a special bond. No matter what they have each other. 

”You look stylish.” Mila tenderly caresses him across the cheek. ”Are you hungry?”

Juri nods eagerly.

”Really? How’s that possible? You ate five Reese’s cups earlier!” she drills both her index fingers into Juri’s soft stomach. Juri laughs. It’s more like a faint chuckling, intense breathing. She would do anything to hear his voice, hear him call her ’mommy’. ”Well then.” Mila establishes. “Let’s go downstairs.”

With great effort she, with the help of the bed frame, manages to stand upright, she swears gruesomely inside her head in pain. Mila turns to face herself in the full length mirror. 

As soon as they got back from the excursion to the gas station and the quarry, Mila staggered up the stairs and tumbled into bed, where she fell asleep, again, from exhaustion. She awoke by Juri climbing the bed with peanut butter and chocolate smeared around his mouth, with a strong scent of Reese’s all around him. Mila ordered him to go wash off in the adjacent bathroom, while Carol proclaimed through the closed door that dinner would be ready within an hour, if they wanted to attend. 

I don’t have time to change, Mila thinks. Getting dressed earlier in the morning had taken long enough. She was close to leaving the bedroom without her pants on, since it was the most difficult garment to get inside when she couldn’t bend her upper body properly. 

Juri, her constant supporter, gives her two thumbs up in the mirror; jeans and a sweaty top are apparently acceptable dinner clothes after all. But he won’t get off so easily. Mila forces him to brush her hair and braid it before she considers them both representable for dinner and they head downstairs. At the end of the stairs, they bump into Daryl, who enters the front door.

”Did you also get a dinner invitation?” She greets him. 

”Sorta’.” he looks at Juri. ”Looking sharp, kiddo.”

Juri brushes up and thugs a bit on the jumper, whereupon he points at Daryl. 

”He wonders why you didn’t dress up? It’s dinner.” Mila explains.

Daryl looks down at his dark shirt with rolled up sleeves, the same clothes he wore on their trip to the gas station. It has probably not been washed in weeks. 

”Maybe next time, kiddo.”

They enter the combined kitchen, dining- and living room together. Sweat starts to run down Milas neck as she counts the attending dinner guests to ten. Shit, she has turned into a hermit. When she sees Morgan however, Mila relaxes slightly. And for some reason, it feels secure to have Daryl there, who probably think this is a worse scenario than the whole world’s population being wiped out, almost. Before she has gotten a grip of the very normal situation, as if it wasn’t an apocalypse going on outside the window, Abraham has stuck a bottle of beer in her hand and squatted in front of her, to praise Juri’s preppy dinner outfit. Without hesitation, Mila chugs half the bottle before she removes it from her lips. In the corner of her eye she sees Daryl staring at her. 

”Thirsty.” Mila says before she walks over to Maggie and Glenn. 

The entire ground floor smells of food. It’s pleasant, unusually normal. Juri wanders around the room and gets attention from right and left from the guests. 

”He really knows how to charm a crowd.” Maggie says. ”He’s a natural.”

”He’s three and a half.” Mila replies and takes another sip of beer. ”Being cute is a part of being a toddler. But yeah-” she sighs when she sees Juri, literally, charming the frayed sheriffs hat of Carl, who puts it on top of Juri’s blonde mane. ”Yup, I have brought up a mingling expert.”

Few minutes later, Carol proclaims over their heads that dinner is on the table. They all move towards the dinner table and sit down. Mila takes a seat next to Juri. On Juri’s other side, Abraham settles. Next to Mila Rick sits, freshly showered and shaved, changed to a clean shirt. 

Carol serves them plates of spaghetti, sauce and green beans. Mila looks with amazement at the plate she’s handed from Carol. She still can’t understand that they get food on real china. Food that’s been prepared in a real kitchen. And freshly baked bread! Juri slurps and is very pleased. Mila eats under silence while listening to the others talking. Rick hands her a new beer when the old bottle is empty. He’s a nice man, handsome. On her right side, Juri tugs at her sleeve.

”What is it, malysh?” 

Juri forms his hand in front of his nose, pulling it down. She smiles and looks at Abraham. 

”He likes your mustasch.”

”He’s beautiful.” Abraham smiles at Mila, before returning to Juri. ”How old are you little guy?” 

Juri puts down his fork. Still with spaghetti hanging out of his mouth he repeats the procedure with his fingers. He’s three and a half fingers old.

”And your mom?”

”She’s twenty-five.” Mila says and spins spaghetti around her fork. ”You’ll have to use both your hand and toes for that one, malenkiy.” she smiles at Juri who giggles. 

Abraham smiles and points towards Juri’s plate with his fork. 

”I see you eat your vegetables. That’s good.”

Juri gives him a satisfied grin, mimes ’yummy’, and makes a wide circle over his belly. He does like vegetables, maybe because Mila has never cooked him meat, being a vegetarian. When she tells Abraham, she hears a faint grunt from the other side of the table, from Daryl. She catches his gaze over her beer bottle and lifts an eyebrow at him, gives him a sharp look, before he turns his attention back to the plate. 

”I think you have to teach me some of that-” Abraham makes some silly movements with his hands, which makes Juri once again laugh. 

While Abraham communicates with Juri, excited about all the attention he’s getting, Mila turns to Rick. 

”Tell me about the plan.” she says and leans back in the chair. ”Tell me about the quarry.”

”We’re planning to lead the herd away from the quarry. We’ll do a trial run tomorrow. The plan is to lead them about 20 miles away.” Rick explains and takes a sip of beer. ”And no, I won’t have you there.” 

”Okay. May I ask why?”

”Because you’re still badly hurt.” he puts the bottle down on the table. ”Still in pain?”

”I’ve given birth once-” Mila nods at Juri. ”But yeah. It stings. Have you involved the risk of stumbling upon those Wolves in your grand plan?”

Rick scratches his forehead.

”Not really. But we’re well prepared.”

”Well prepared, or just lucky?” Mila meets the former sheriff’s eyes. ”Luck doesn’t last forever. Sooner or later you’ll run out of it.”

”Maybe that’s why I want you to stay here then.” Rick replies.

”Because I’m unlucky?” 

”Because you were sliced up with a machete barely three days ago.” 

She clenches her jaw. Fine. She’ll stay here while they pull off something that could be called the heist of the year. Lovely! From the other side of the table, she notices how Daryl looks at them. Smug son of a bitch. Just because he’s a part of the plan already. Mila takes a bountiful sip of beer. 

As if the dinner wasn’t enough, Carol has prepared dessert. A pie. It might as well have been Juri’s birthday. With widened eyes he follows Carol as she puts a smoking, freshly baked pie in the middle of the table. Mila must remind him to breathe when she also places a pitcher of custard next to the pie. He’s that excited.

”See it as a welcome party.” Carol smiles warmly at Juri, or both of them. ”Go ahead, dig in.”

Juri manages to push two pieces of pie down his small stomach before he leans back in the chair with a satisfied smile upon his lips. By then, Mila is on her fourth beer and begins to feel comfortably insouciant, to the point that Juri can crawl up in her lap to cuddle, without causing Mila to vomit from abdominal pain. She listens to the other talking, lulls the boy in her lap, while Morgan, in his reluctant manner, tells them about his life, about his friend Eastman, who tragically died.

”And then she stood there in the church. As the answer to my prayers. A sign from above.”

Morgan looks at her over the table, just as he did that day at the church. As if she were an angel. He couldn’t be more wrong. She was, still is, only a young mother with alcohol problems and a lot of fucked up baggage, a broken past and a broken heart. But still, they found peace in each others company. 

”What’s your story?” Maggie turns and meets her gaze from the end of the table. “What did you do before all this?” 

”You heard. I was dropped from the sky one day, landing in front of Gandhi himself.” Mila cheekily nods at Morgan, making the group around the table laugh. ”It’s a… long story.” she shrugs her shoulders. “I’m from Russia. I came here when I was sixteen, to New Jersey. I became a mother while in university, totally unplanned. And now I’m here, at the end of the world with my three and a half year old son. We’ve survived so far. Now, can I have another beer?”


	11. Jersey on my mind (Part 11)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback: A frightened teenage girl’s first encounter with her foster family, who doesn’t know a word of Russian, and the realization that she will stay in Little Silver, New Jersey, longer than she could ever believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.I hope you will like the story.

The landscape that passes outside the window of the car shifts in a cavalcade of summer colors; hundreds of shades of green leaves in contrast to the flashing flower beds. Roses, gardenias and bright, yellow marigolds. The vegetation, although it’s a residential area, is exuberant and lush, but meticulously planned. The trees are tall, the bushes are dense and perfectly cut. Mila’s eyes wander over the houses, cars and the flags of red, white and blue. It’s a quiet suburb just like the ones at home, but yet so different. 

At home, back in Russia, everything is somewhat grey, a concrete block-landscape. In Russia she lives, or lived, in a suburb of Moscow, on the 12th floor of a brick high-rise. If Mila looked out of the kitchen window, filled with houseplants, she could see a square patch of grass, crossed by a diagonal path, with other identical high rises on the left and on the right. Everybody drove Russian cars, nothing like the cars that pass them now. Is she really going to live here, in one of these houses? She doesn’t want to. She wants to go home. To the dull complex with flaking blue paint, her small bedroom, home to mama. This is a nightmare, and no matter how much she wants it, she can’t wake up from it. 

”Are we there yet?” she says out loud. 

”What?” the man in the driver’s seat looks at her in the rearview mirror. 

”Home?” Mila tries as fast she can to find suiting words in english instead. ”This? Home?” 

The man with the kind eyes says something to her, but Mila doesn’t understand. He smiles at her. If it’s out of pity over her limited vocabulary or if he’s genuinely nice, Mila can’t figure out. She feels vulnerable and fragile. To prevent herself from bursting into tears she looks out the window again. Is she really going to stay in one of these houses? No, this is where the wealthy people live. They are just taking a ride through the neighborhood. At home, in Russia, only the rich can afford to live like this and have two cars on the driveway. The car she rides in is a newly polished Cadillac. It smells brand new and the backseat feels like sitting on a leather couch. Mila caresses the tanned leather. In the rearview mirror she feels the man’s eyes observing her. This is the second time they met, ever. The first time was at the police station two days ago, in the company of two police officers, an interpreter and the social service representative. His name is Joseph Galka. Mila has met his wife too, Ellie. A pretty woman with dimples and honey blonde hair. When they entered the small room at the police station Mila thought they looked nice, very American. They spoke to her through the interpreter, asked her things and seemed very kind. Then they told her that she was going to stay with them for a while at their house, and asked her if that would be okay. Mila hesitated at first. She didn’t want to go with them, or anyone for that matter. They were complete strangers to her. But she knew that it was unreasonable for her to remain at the police station. And she couldn’t go back home even if she wanted to. 

Joseph Galka breaks smoothly, the car slows down and he turns left into a concrete driveway. Mila’s eyes widen at the sight of the house. A two story craftsman home with sloping ceiling, a mix of stone, bricks and wood as well as a wooden porch. Joseph Galka turns the key and the car dies, as well as the radio. He steps out of the car, hurries around to the other side and opens the door for her. 

”Welcome home.” 

.

.

”I remember it like it was yesterday. You looked like a frightened nestling.” Ellie smiles at Mila and caresses her cheek with her soft hand. ”No wonder. You had a couple of hard days, hun.”

Mila squeezes Ellie’s hand, meets the kind woman’s gaze. It’s been a year since Mila stepped inside the front door of The Galka’s home for the first time. Earlier in the day, Mila was surprised when she came home from school with a small ’one-year in America’ party for the five of them. Just as that first day, she was met by a small welcome committee consisting of Ellie and the boys, Billy and Adam, and a home made sign that Billy happened to hold upside down. On that first sign, ’welcome’ was written in both English and Russian. This time the sign said ’1 year ago’ and was turned upright. 

“You looked like you saw a ghost.” Billy opens his eyes wide and presses his lips tightly together. “Like that. You looked terrified.”

Yeah. Mila clearly remembers how overwhelmed and scared she was that day. It felt as if she was an alien. As if the four complete strangers weren’t enough, an old woman and an old man appeared in the hallway out of nowhere, talking gibberish to her and opening their arms, as if they wanted to hug her. It was Ellie’s parents, Ray and Barbara, byt Mila didn’t know that. Precariously, she withdrew, pressing herself against the inside of the front door. Her frightened face, the one Billy imitated, forced the Galka’s to tone down the party a bit. 

Ellie offered to take her jacket and then led her into the dining room, where she had prepared a picture perfect key lime pie, chocolate chip cookies and tea. A dog-eared Russian-English dictionary laid on the table between the cake dish and the pie. The interpreter who was supposed to come with Mila, on her first day at the Galka’s, became acutely ill and the social services didn’t succeed in getting a replacement. Mila was on her own. 

Her very limited english skills were tested immediately. She hadn’t read much english in school in Russia, barely any, but she had seen Titanic a couple of times with her friends at the cinema. In an attempt to break the tension, and to show that she knew at least one english phrase perfectly, Mila opened her mouth and said: 

”You want to go to a real party?”

The Galka’s looked at each other, not sure what she said, and why. Ellie’s mother Barbara said something, to which Adam replied something with a small laugh. At that time Mila had no idea what was being said between them, but afterwards she figured out that Barbara wondered ‘what the hell she meant by that’, whereupon Adam asked the others if Mila just quoted Titanic?

”You remember that you quoted Titanic?” Adam chuckles on the opposite side of the table and takes a sip of his Pepsi Cola. ”I’ve never been that shocked in my entire life. It was hilarious!”

”I loved Titanic! It is a good movie.” Mila excuses herself. ”Very popular. All the girls in school loved Leo.”

”How does it sound in Russian?” Billy says. ”That party-line?”

Mila repeats the line in her native language. At the same time, Joe enters the dining room from the kitchen, carrying a key lime pie in his hands, which he puts down on the table. It’s her absolute favorite. The pie is decorated with sizzling sparklers and American and Russian flags. One year has passed since she tasted key lime pie for the first time. One year that she, during that first day at the airport, locked in the small square room, never thought she would survive. And here she is. She has survived. Every trial day. Every panic anxiety attack when she has faced reality, faced what her father did. She survived it all.

Later that night, when she lies in her bed, Mila dials the ten-digit number on her flip phone. She knows it’s late, knows very well that international calls are expensive, but she has to. Signals are heard. She focuses her gaze on the ceiling above her, counting the luminous plastic stars. Five signals go through, then…

”Allo?”

”Mama.” Mila struggles to keep calm. ”Hi.” 

“Moya malyshka!” 

Mila hears how her mother gets up from bed at the other end; that fucking bed squeaked just being looked at. Her father was too greedy to buy them a new one and he was a notorious ‘twist and turner’. Mila closes her eyes, tries to picture the scene inside her head. The apartment with lace curtains, on the 12th floor, where mama lives on her own now, since a year. Over the raspy telephone signal, she hears her mother’s faint, sniffing cry. Mila takes a deep breath, prevents herself from crying.

”Mom, don’t cry.” she says as encouragingly as she can. ”Did I wake you?”

”Yes. But it’s alright, malyshka.” her mother sniffs. ”I dreamed you were home. In your bed. It was your birthday and I couldn’t find the seventeenth candle for your cake.” she lets out a sniffling laughter.

Damn it. Mila starts to sob.

”I want to come home. I want to be with you, mama. I want to come home.”

Her mother says nothing. She’s also crying, a heartbreaking cry. And there’s nothing to be done about it. Nothing they can do. On each side of the globe they sit, alone, crying, missing each other. 

Her mother in the apartment complex in Moscow. Mila in her bedroom in the house in Little Silver, New Jersey. As they have done for the past year. A whole year. The only thing Mila can think of, through the tears, is if there will be another year, and then another? 

Will she ever go back home?


	12. Jersey on my mind (Part 12)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl gets through a long, sleepless night, lost in thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.I hope you will like the story.

Daryl buffs the pillows before falling back against them, for the third time since he laid down, with a sigh. He has twisted and turned for probably an hour on the sofa in the dark living room. Not because it’s uncomfortable. On the contrary. Better than most beds he’s slept in. A bit narrow, but still he can’t manage to fall asleep. His thoughts spin around in his head like a carousel. He’s tried everything to make it stop. Counting stupid sheep. He came to fifty before giving up. He has looked around the dark, quiet living room in chase for something to focus on, tried to make sense of a painting with a modern, terrible motif, which he in the end came to the conclusion, didn’t represent anything at all. Just seventy shades of beige on a canvas. 

He should be tired by now. The dinner party was anything but relaxing. A regular dinner, but still, nerve-wracking. He ended up sitting opposite Mila at the table, flanked by Abraham and Rick, who kept her entertained all evening. Abraham had the same look in his eyes as a gold digger when he’d collected a big gold nugget, when he looked at Mila. She wore the same clothes as before, but the long hair was braided over her shoulder, looking very- 

And then there was Rick, who offered her new bottles of beers when the old ones were empty and discussed the quarry mission with her. Of course, Daryl thought at the other side of the table, feeling his cheeks flush at the sight of the two of them sitting close together, to be able to hear each other talk. Of course she found Rick interesting, attractive even. The handsome, charming cop. The natural born leader. The father. 

What annoyed Daryl the most though was that Rick could talk to Mila as if she was anyone, while every time Daryl made a go for it, his mouth dried up and he lost his entire vocabulary. That he happened to bridle out loud when she mentioned being a vegetarian, didn’t make things better either. He must work on his impulse control. 

Daryl fixes his gaze on a spot in the ceiling. He heard her, Mila, sayin’ she was 25 when talking to Abraham, who smoothly asked about her age after he’d asked Juri the same question, on which the boy proudly showed him three and a half fingers. She mentioned she was in university when she got pregnant.

Daryl desperately tries to remember what he did when he was around 22. Drank himself helplessly drunk, probably. Fought at bars. Hung with Merle and his buddies, doing nothing useful. Had he had a child back then… well, poor kid. Daryl didn’t exactly have a good experience with parents. His own folks were perfect examples of how parents should not behave.   
He closes his eyes, doesn’t want to think about ‘em. Fucking trash. He returns to his own head, to the memory of the dinner. 

Despite barely uttering a word to Mila throughout the entire dinner, even though he sat right in front of her, it was he, Mila, Juri, Rick, Maggie, Michonne, Glenn and Carol who remained at the table as the others said goodnight. Juri fell asleep in Mila’s arms by the time Maggie and Glenn left for bed. He was completely knocked out after the big feast and two turns on the dessert, to Carol’s delight (“I’ll be sure to make pies more often then” she exclaimed happily when she cleared the table). Daryl listened while Mila talked with Rick and Carol. Strengthened by a couple of beers, he let his eyes linger a few extra seconds at her; the slender neck, the bone structure, the mouth and the nose. 

One beer later, Mila yawned and:

”I think I need to put us to bed.” Mila kissed Juri on the blonde hair. ”Dinner parties are tiring.” 

Strengthened by yet another beer, Daryl rose from his chair and made his way around the table.

”I’ll do it.” he said and gently lifted the limp boy from Milas lap (it still baffles him that he had the guts to do that). ”Ya’ can hardly walk by yourself.” he replied to Mila’s moderately surprised reaction. ”Let’s go.”

He wasn’t completely wrong. Mila moved stiffly up the stairs, low-key swearing at every step, grasping the handrail, like a grumpy old man. The only thing missing was a cane. 

”Had it been possible to amputate one’s entire midsection…” she whined. ”How long should I have to walk around like this?”

”It’s been like, what, three days?” Daryl asked while opening the bedroom door.

”Three days too much.” Mila replied as she sat on the bed as Daryl put the sleeping boy down next to her. ”My patience is non-existent.”

”That’s why ya’ stapled yourself?” he asked. “Ain’t workin’ like that, Jersey.”

Mila let out a faint, tired laugh and pulled a strand of hair from her face. 

“Yeah, as I said. I’m not a doctor.” she nodded towards Juri. ”Thanks, really.”

”Sure.” Daryl stepped out of the room and laid his hand on the doorknob. ”Night’ Jersey.”

And now he’s here, on the couch in the living room and can’t fall asleep for anything in the world. Daryl’s gaze wanders from the depressing beige canvas painting to the clock on the wall. Three o’clock. Already? 

In a couple of hours they will be on their way to the quarry, to prepare to herd a thousand rotting bastards from A to B the following day. Everything is basically ready for the big project; temporary barricades, escape plans, flare guns and color-coded rendezvous. Mila was moderately dissatisfied with Rick’s decision about her not being allowed to attend tomorrow or the finale, the day after. Wise decision, Daryl thinks and adjusts on the couch. He kicks off his boots and rests his feet on the armrest. In a healthier state Mila would have been invited to come along, but not now. The short walk to the gas station from where they parked the car earlier in the day was enough to cause her to be out of breath. And no matter how grumpy she is about having to stay behind tomorrow, Daryl is happy that she is on her feet and recovers. Considering how bad it was- He closes his eyes, tries to breathe calmly. 

Not until the horizon is starting to turn from black to blue and purple, he manages to fall asleep.


	13. Jersey on my mind (Part 13)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mila’s big pout, over the fact that she wasn’t allowed to accompany the others to the quarry, is boldly interrupted by some uninvited guests in the Safe-Zone, making the already irritated Jersey girl see red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.I hope you will like the story.

The white smoke seeps through Milas nose, further up toward the ceiling where it dispels in the breeze that seeps through the open window. And yet, the room is stuffy. 

The warm, moist climate is unfamiliar to her. At least New Jersey reminded her somewhat of the Russian climate. Not that it got cold to the point where the water pipes froze and caused the entire housing complex to resemble an igloo, but at least there was a change of seasons. Autumn, winter, spring, summer. Despite spending nine years in the states, Mila can find herself missing the Russian climate and all its extreme shifts. The summers were dry and hot, the winters cold and dark. She was hardened by the harsh climate, able to cope with most weather conditions, well, at least she thought she was. 

But this heat, which almost feels sticky (and it’s not even summer) is very unpleasant. 

Mila takes a new flare on the cigarette. She lies on the unmade bed next to Juri and is in the process of smoking her fifth cigarette for the day and feels grouchy.

At breakfast Mila had stormed off, after once again being refused to accompany the others to the quarry for a rehearsal of the ‘grand plan’. She tried to convince them that she felt much better. She was able to walk and stand. It was trickier to sit down and bend her upper body without wearing, but that wasn’t the point. 

“Gimme’ some morphine and I’ll be fine.” she said. “It’s just a briefing.”

She had fallen into a rather rancorous debate with Daryl before Rick intervened and firmly declared that she would not go with them. 

“You stay here. Denise will check on you. Carol and Maggie will also stay-”

Mila yelled at them, then stormed off upstairs and slammed the bedroom door behind her, causing Juri to wake up. Mila rushed over to the bed. “I’m sorry, malysh.” She cooed to the newly awakened boy, rubbing his eyes and collecting his soft toys around him. “Good morning.” she kissed him on the forehead. “Carol made you breakfast downstairs, okay?”

Juri bursted into a sunny smile and Mila kissed him on the forehead once again. While Juri climbed out of bed and rushed downstairs to eat breakfast, Mila took a shower. 

She looks angrily at her bandaged stomach.

“I hate you.” she hisses to the bandage. 

She hasn’t even bothered to dress properly after the angry shower. For once, she started with the jeans, which is the biggest problem in her attire. As a result, she gave up as soon as they were on her body and the button was buttoned. She laid down on the bed again, in jeans, bra and hat and started smoking, while Juri lay next to her, browsing through the mixtapes Mila constantly carried with her in her backpack. They have been lying there for a while now, listening to everything from Springsteen (their favorite), Grateful Dead and all sorts of country artists, on Juri’s walkman. Willie Nelson, Cash, Alan Jackson, The Highwaymen…

“And we’re gonna ride, we’re gonna ride. Ride like the one-eyed jack of diamonds, With the devil close behind…” Mila sings with as much feeling she possibly can, without dropping the cigarette. 

When she comes to think about it, smoking is hella’ disgusting. Good thing she rarely smokes then. She prefers vodka. From time to time her eyes wander to the backpack on the floor, where there are five bottles of Tovaritch, Russian standard and Stolichnaya, crying out for her attention, to the point where Mila starts to think she hears them talking to her. 

She hasn’t taken as much as a sip of booze since before they were brought to Alexandria, even though she brought five bottles back with her from the liquor store the other day. But due to the fact that she has been falling asleep at the same time as Juri every evening, she hasn’t had those moments on her own where she drinks herself into apathy before falling asleep. Which should be a good thing, but so far it’s been almost intolerable. She’s constantly irritated (which was directed at Daryl and Rick earlier), has a headache, is dreaming nightmares and feels thirsty all the goddamn’ time. And it’s not for water. 

“I’m gonna chase the sky forever, with the woman and the stallion and the wind…” 

Mila’s restless, doesn’t like to be left out. She wonders how things are going at the quarry. It would have been nice to let off steam a bit on a bunch of rotten walkers. Then she might not have believed that the vodka bottles talked to her. 

The walkman clicks. The tape is over. Juri climbs down from the bed, to pick a new cassette tape from the backpack. But something outside the window catches his attention. Mila hears it too, just doesn’t bother. The boy rushes to the window, where the curtains dance in the breeze, stand on his tippy toes and peeks out. 

Mila peers against the window. These are not the usual sounds; no nice greetings as people pass on the street, no birds chirping.

“What is it?” Mila says. “What’s going on?”

The boy tears his eyes from the window and starts gesticulating with his hands towards her and mimes; ‘Trouble’. He points to the window. 

“Really?” Mila looks at Juri in disbelief from underneath the hat.  
Juri nods and raises his index fingers in front of him, places them with their fingertips against each other and then pulls them apart. ‘Enemy’. Mila rises on her elbows in the bed. This can’t be good.  
”How many are there?” she whimpers. “Show me the fingers.”

Juri lifts all ten fingers, which can mean both ten and more. Mila swears and climbs out of bed. Her head spins a bit when she stumbles over to the window and opens it fully to look out. The scene that meets her eyes causes her heart to speed up, as if she had received an adrenaline injection right into the beating muscle. Scruffy figures are running around in the streets, armed with machetes and knives, attacking the residents. Mila’s eyes are drawn to a male, with the letter “W” carved in his forehead. Her brain comes to life in the matter of seconds, as if it has been on standby mode for several days. 

“Son of a-” she sputters. “Give me the gun!” 

Juri hurries over to her AK74, takes it and hurries back to the window. Mila grabs the rifle, gives it a quick check to see that it is loaded. Without hesitating, she lifts it out of the window, finds a target, a male whose full attention is directed at Aaron and a woman from the Alexandria community. 

On the next exhale, Mila pulls the trigger. The bullet cuts through the air and the man collapses on the asphalt, with a bleeding bullet hole in his neck. Before Mila is able to search for new targets, and before Aaron can call out to her, a loud bang is heard in the other street, which causes her to lower the rifle. Mila turns around and starts searching for her shoes on the floor. 

“Juri-” she says, as calm as she can, at the same time as she sees the boots. “I want you to put on your headphones, and stay here. Lock the door, and don’t let anyone in.” 

Juri nods obediently, jumps the bed and puts the headphones over his ears, while Mila presses her feet into the boots. Juri presses the on-button on the walkman with his index finger and gives her a thumb up. He’s such a good boy. Mila kisses him on the hair before she opens the door to the bedroom. There’s no time to put on a shirt. She runs out of the room, dressed in jeans, boots, hat and a bra, hurries downstairs and tears the front door open. Aaron runs past on the road, there’s bodies lying on the ground, she hears screaming and yelling. It is as if a light switch turned on in her brain. Her vision is sharper, every muscle, every reflex in her body seems to react faster. Above all, a feeling of indifference. She’s more angry than scared. Her heart pounds with adrenaline. 

A familiar, deep voice speaks to her inside her head, makes Milas skin crawl; “What ties us together, Mila, besides blood, is that you are just as crazy as I am. Deep down, we’re the same. Embrace it.”

Well, if she’s ever to embrace it… it might as well be now. Crazy mode; on. 

With a burning sensation of stark mad anger throughout her body, that scares her as much as it tickles her senses, Mila steps out onto the street. At the same time, a young man, dressed in dark, dirty clothes, comes running rounds the corner of the street, with an axe in his hand. The letter “W” glows red in his forehead. A Wolf. His frantic eyes catch sight of her. Without hesitation, Mila rushes towards him. She’s not particularly strong or bulky, but she’s a damn good shot, and she can use a gun for more than shooting things. 

She grabs the barrel of her trustworthy AK74 with both hands and wields it with all her power against the youngster. An unpleasant creaking sound is heard when the oiled wooden stock crushes his jaw. The man falls to the ground with a thud. All the anger Mila built up against the Wolves since their first encounter in the woods, combined with not drinking a drop of alcohol for several days and being denied to follow the other to that goddamn’, motherf-kin’ quarry for a goddamn’ briefing… 

Mila feeds stroke upon stroke with the rifle stock against him, kicking and cursing, until he doesn’t move.


	14. Jersey on my mind (Part 14)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mila embraces crazy when she finds herself face to face with the hostile group the Wolves. Armed, injured and wearing bra and boots, she embarks on a killing-spree side by side with the other residents through the streets of Alexandria, to protect the Safe-Zone at all costs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.I hope you will like the story.

A loud crashing, like broken glass, pulls Mila back to the present. Like a bull who’s seen red she looks around, only to see Juri standing in the bedroom window. He wears the foam headphones over his ears, holds his walkman in one hand and points downwards with the other. Mila’s eyes are drawn to the broken vodka bottle, scattered across the street. Well, and the Wolf, bolting towards her like a lunatic. 

Mila puts her finger on the trigger just as the man raises a big army knife at her. Being high on adrenaline, Mila reacts faster. The bullet digs itself into the “W” in his sweaty forehead, and he lunges backwards, as if he’s being hit with a wrecking ball in the solar plexus.

“Juri!” Mila calls towards the boy in the bedroom window and lowers the rifle to the ground. “Get back inside!” 

Her small rescuer in distress gives her a thumbs up over the windowsill and makes the sign for ‘you’re welcome’, before disappearing inside again. 

Mila takes one last look at the unconscious, bloody man at her feet, then the millions of pieces of what once was a bottle of Russian standard, sighs and starts running down the street. There’s no time to mourn spilled vodka. 

Over the Safe-Zone a loud truck-horn is heard. That can’t be good. On her run, Mila quickly realizes that the situation is somewhat chaotic. Numerous Wolves have entered Alexandria; all of them with the letter “W” carved into their heads. Mercilessly they kill any Alexandrian’s they come across with knives, axes- 

In the distance Mila catches sight of Carol, clenching a bloody knife in her hand and a gun in the other while scurrying down the street towards her. The kind woman’s eyes are vigilant, ready for battle.

“We have to get people off the streets.” Carol calls. 

“Where’s the kids?” Mila shouts to Carol. “Carl and Judith?”

“On their way to the house, with Judith!” Carol calls back.

A Wolf approaches them. Mila lifts her rifle and pulls the trigger. The man stumbles down on his knees and lands, nose first, on the pavement. Blood runs down his head into a puddle around him. 

“They’re gonna look for guns.” Mila says and rubs the sore, pulsating bandage. 

“I’ll go check the armory.” Carol replies. 

“Yeah. I’ll check the main gate.”

Just like when she ran the New York Marathon before the outbreak, Mila sets off toward the gate at a fast pace, tall spine and eyes ahead. She calls on every Alexandria resident she runs past to get inside the houses and barricade the doors. In the distance, she sees Deanna’s son Spencer up in the watchtower, focused on mowing down- oh fuck! 

Mila brakes as she sees a couple of walkers, climbing out of a truck that’s been driven straight through the fence of the Safe-Zone. Its horn blares loud and clearly over the area. 

”Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Mila sputters, like a broken record.

“Shut the horn off!” Spencer shouts at her. “Door’s blocked, I can’t get out.”

Before she gets the chance, Morgan rushes past her, towards the truck and the walkers and Mila is approached by two Wolves, a man and a woman equipped with what looks like homemade swords, who decide to attack her. Two against one feels unfair. She’s also visibly damaged, with the bandages and the bruised skin peeking out of it, that shifts in blue, purple, green and yellow. But they don’t seem to care. Mila starts swinging the rifle at them like a baseball player trying to hit a ball. In the corner of her eye she sees Maggie and Deanna scurry past her and Spencer getting out of the tower, heading towards the truck. 

May Rick and the others be back soon, she thinks. Where the hell are they? Has something happened? She fends off the Wolves and starts running towards the houses, leaving Morgan in control of the situation at the main gate. She must make sure no one has entered the house where Carl, Judith and Juri are hiding. But she doesn’t reach the street, or the house. Commotion and gunfire is heard from the main gate, where she was just minutes ago. Have the Wolves got hold of firearms at last? Mila simply has to run back. 

She passes Rosita and Aaron on her way back, in the process of warding off two Wolves. At a distance Mila sees Morgan, inside a circle created by a group of Wolves. He circulates the circle with the staff in a tight grip. His steps are vigilant, his dark eyes are sharp. Mila has seen him handle that staff, knows he’s lethal, if it hadn’t been for his stupid philosophy that ‘All life is precious’. And Mila’s had it with philosophy. She marches towards the circle. 

“Mila-”

Morgan doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Mila fires the first shot and a Wolf, standing with its back against her, drops in the ground. It’s like the starting signal for a sprint race. Two Wolves against her and the other three attacks Morgan, who goes full blown ‘karate kid’ on them. One thing is certain; Mila prefers Rambo. Without blinking, she kills the two men on the spot; bam-bam, done! She reloads and looks up. That’s when she sees him. The bastard who sliced her with a machete in the forest, with a fire axe in his hand, that he swings over his head towards Morgan. 

One thing is certain; a fire axe beats a wooden stick. Mila once again lunges the rifle through the air (why waste ammunition) and hits the stock in the back of the head of the man. He wobbles and turns around, right when Mila points the rifle at him and-

“Fucking hell!”

The young man roars in pain as the kneecap explodes by Mila’s bullet. He falls to the ground, screaming in agony. 

“Mila, no-” Morgan starts to protest.

“Oh shut up!”

Mila walks up to the screaming man, kicks him in the side so he rolls over on his back, in a puddle of blood. With the muzzle aimed at his forehead, towards the bulky “W”, Mila puts her boot against his neck and puts some weight on it. He starts to cough. If he thinks Mila’s done with him, he’s wrong. By this time, she has embraced crazy.

“Do you remember me?”

The man doesn’t answer, just gasps and looks at her with eyes filled with disgust. 

“Mila, this isn’t the way-”

“Morgan, I swear to whatever god you believe in-” Mila snaps and meets her friend’s gaze. “I got this.” 

In the distance, Carol, Rosita and Aaron approaches the scene. Mila turns her attention back to the man on the ground. She looks at his knee. The fabric in his pants is completely shattered, as is his kneecap. Blood pulsates from the wound. Without breaking their eye contact, Mila squats next to the young man, still holding him down by his neck with her boot, whereupon she digs her index finger into the bleeding bullet hole. It is difficult to decide which one sounded the loudest; the truck horn or his scream of pain. Mila chokes his scream by putting her entire weight on his neck. His cry ceases and she removes her finger.

“Yeah. Hurts, doesn’t it?” she says calmly and nods at her wrapped abdomen. “I know. Almost as one wants to die, right? But luckily for you, I haven’t been drinking in days, so I’m kinda’ clear. ‘cause you see, when I’m drunk and angry, I’m fucking crazy. However, unluckily for you, I haven’t been drinking in days, which means I’m in a terrible mood. You also tried to kill me and I didn’t like that.” Mila shocks her head at him and grins. She puts her index finger back over the bullet hole. ”Wish you killed me properly now, don’t you?”


	15. Jersey on my mind (Part 15)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing went as planned at the quarry. Daryl, Abraham and Sasha are far from Alexandria, herding hundreds of hungry walkers as far as possible when a loud car horn echoes over the area. One thing’s for sure, this is not good news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.I hope you will like the story.

In front of him the road lies deserted, in contrast to a clear blue sky. There’s not a cloud in sight. It could be a great day, if it wasn’t for his company. In his back Daryl has about a thousand walkers following him, flooding the road, creating a buzzing sound of hisses and dragging feets against asphalt. 

Daryl pulls the sweat out of his forehead with the dirty rag he carries in his back pocket and revs the engine, to maintain the walkers attention forward. Nothing has gone as planned. During the practice run at the quarry, the truck blocking the walkers, preventing them from escaping, fell off the edge, allowing the herd of walkers to walk freely. They had to initiate the plan immediately. 

And to top it all, Mila had a fit of rage directed at him and Rick the same morning at breakfast and stormed off in anger. Although they told her three times, or more, that she couldn’t come along to the quarry, she still tried to persuade them. Why couldn’t she just understand that he wanted her to recover properly before she came along on runs and whatnot? And most of all, to be safe? Nope, she couldn’t see that. Maybe because he didn’t tell her how he actually felt, because he was a moron who couldn’t express feelings. 

Carol (she can read him as if he were an open book) seemed to understand exactly what was going on in his head. Before they left for the quarry, she had approached him as he fixed the motorcycle.

“Why don’t you just tell her you care?”

“Don’t know whatcha talkin’ ‘bout.”

“You know exactly who I mean.” Carol nodded her head slightly upwards. “It is easier to communicate if you actually say something.”

“Hm.”

“Not everyone can read the thoughts of others.” 

“And you can?”

“I can read you.” Carol smiled and buffeted him in the side. “Talk to her when you’re back. And tell her you care, damn it.”

Daryl’s interrupted in his thoughts by a loud noise in the distance. A car horn. An elongated, high tone that causes his spine to freeze while it bounces through the woods around them. The tail of walkers hears it as clearly as he does. Daryl brakes and presses his feet into the ground, feels the weight of the bike against his body. He buckles his legs, letting the weight lie on his feet against the ground, preventing the bike from tipping over as he looks around. The horn continues to echo over the trees. To his dismay, he sees how his followers attention is shifting. They begin to disperse, to look for the cause of the sound. He revs the engine again, tries to drag their half dead attention back to him instead.

“Rick!” he shouts into the walkie talkie. 

A raspy voice answers him.

“I’m here.”

“What’s going on back there?”

At the same time, Sasha and Abraham drive up beside him in the car, Daryl kicks off again and they continue to drive. 

“Half of them broke off. They’re going to Alexandria.”

Not what he wanted to hear. Something has happened. Daryl’s sure of it. Sasha looks worried, probably thinking the same thing. Abraham brings his walkie talkie to his mouth.

“Towards you?”

“We ran ahead.” Daryl hears Rick’s voice chattering through the crackling speaker in Abraham’s walkie talkie. “There’s a horn or something. Loud, coming from the east. It’s not stopping.”

Daryl’s heart rate goes up to max. What the hell is going on? And who did they left behind in Alexandria that’s prepared for combat? Carol, Maggie, Morgan … Mila. Mila. Damn it!

“I’m gonna gas it up, turn back.” Daryl calls in his walkie talkie.

“We have it.” Rick replies. “You keep going.”

“They’re gonna need our help!” Daryl shouts back and starts to get angry.

“Gotta keep the herd moving.”

What the hell does it matter, Daryl thinks angrily.

“Not if it’s going down, we don’t.”

“The rest of that herd turns around, the bad back there gets worse.”

Daryl clenches his jaw and looks behind his back, at the thousands of bloodthirsty bastards. Something has happened in Alexandria, his gut feeling tells him that. And a whole bunch of walkers are on their way over there right now. Rick and the others are on their way over there, but what if it’s too late? What if they’re outnumbered? What if the Wolves saw them leave Alexandria?

“Daryl?” Rick shouts through the creaky speaker.

Daryl feverishly tries to think clearly. He looks at Abraham and Sasha. Sasha does her best to appear calm, but her knuckles, grabbing the steering wheel, are shivering. He sees in her eyes that she’s also worried, the same goes for Abraham. 

“Daryl?” Rick repeats.

Rick can handle it. He’s with Michonne, Glenn and the others. They got this and Daryl has his job. He has to do it for the sake of the community. And he can’t leave Abraham and Sasha alone. What if something happened to them? What if the car breaks down? But his conscience is undoubtedly split. 

As if Rick could read his thoughts, Daryl hears him say, as if he has stopped running completely to speak:

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Yeah, I heard you.” Daryl replies, reluctantly. 

Radio silence follows and they continue along the road at a slow pace. Sasha puts her hand on the car horn and gives it two light presses; poking at the attention of their companions, makes them want to follow their lead. Daryl on the other hand feels as if a belt is being tightened around his chest. 

“Hey.” Abraham calls him back to the present. “They’re probably okay.”  
“Hm.” 

But he’s not convinced. To be thrown into an unprepared attack… No one can be fully prepared for such a thing. A flood of emotions, even anxiety, flushes over him. But Daryl pushes it back. Focuses on the road ahead with all his willpower, tries his utmost to turn off the brain and his heart. They continue to drive slowly under silence, in what feels like an eternity. For every meter, that lump of anxiety grows in his stomach. Soon they reach the Alexandria sign. It hangs on the edge and looks ravaged. A ‘new start’ is promised. He recognizes the houses. The porches and the trees. But are they still gonna be there when they come back? Or will all of this be in vain? He squeezes the handlebar. Is there any way back there that doesn’t include having to go zigzag between a thousand walkers in the opposite direction? 

“Hey, we’ve gone five miles out yet?” he calls to Abraham. 

“Give or take some yardage.” the former sergeant replies. “My guess is about six, maybe eight even. You got a reason for asking?”

“Next intersection I’m gonna spin around and go back.”

“The plan is to go 15 more.” Abraham calls, in an attempt to persuade him to not go. 

Daryl has already made up his mind.

“Yeah, I’m gonna change that.”


	16. Jersey on my mind (Part 16)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mila and Rick shares a bottle of vodka and memories of their past lives, after the slaughter of the Wolves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.I hope you will like the story.

“You’re safe.”

Mila looks up from the half empty, half full bottle of Stolichnaya and is met by Rick, standing in the door of the bedroom. He’s all sweaty and stained with blood, but seemingly unharmed. Maybe a bit bruised but-

“Erhm… yeah.” Mila says, looking at him in disbelief. “You’re back.” 

“I am.” Rick replies and sighs.

“Alone?”

“Michonne’s back too.”

Rick walks up to the bed, where Mila has barricaded herself since she left the battle scene outside. 

Her ‘maybe planned’ torture of the Wolf (it was because of him Mila had barely been able to dress herself for several days) was interrupted by Morgan, who dragged him away to the makeshift prison cell. He then forbade Mila to go near him, to which Mila gave Morgan a haywire smile, saying it wasn’t something she could promise. Then she returned to the house… well, after she had stopped to vomit into a beautiful rose bush around the corner. On shaking legs she ran up the stairs to the bedroom, where she found Juri, hiding underneath the covers in the bed with his walkman. At the sight of her, he burst into a sunny smile and wrapped his arms around Milas neck; squeezed all the anger, all the crazy, out of her. Mila held him close, pressed his little body against her chest and inhaled the scent of his soft hair, whispering to him what a good boy he was, how brave he was when he threw the bottle out the window.

“You are my brave, brave Solnishko.” 

Mila caressed him across his small face with the fingertips. Juri imitated, pulled his soft little fingers over her face, then buried them in her hair, pulled her close and gave her a kiss on the nose. She fell down next to Juri on the bed, just laid there, looking at him. Half an hour later, Juri was asleep and Mila had opened a bottle of vodka. 

Rick sits down on the bedside. He looks tired. 

“What happened?” she asks monotonously. “What went wrong?”

“They got out of the quarry.” Rick meets her gaze. “All of ‘em.” he sighs. “How’s the-” he nods towards her stomach.

Mila lifts the half empty bottle, to answer his question. Her goal is to drink herself to apathy, to the point where she won’t feel anything at all, neither her aching abdomen or emotions. It’s been too long since her last booze-bonanza. Half a bottle doesn’t affect her that much, a whole bottle is manageable but does the trick. Two bottles are quite a lot, definitely causes her to sway and spontaneously dance. 

She reaches Rick the bottle. It looks like he needs it. He takes it, removes the lid and takes a mouthful of the clear liquid and coughs, before giving it back to her.

“I talked to Morgan. And Carol. They said you did a hell of a job.”

“What did Morgan say?” Mila scoffs. 

“That you’re crazy.”

“Could’ve been worse.” Mila raises her eyebrows and takes a mouthful of vodka. “On the other hand, Gandhi’s right though. I am crazy.” 

“Seems like crazy saved a lot of lives.”

“Crazy’s not allowed to come out that often.” Once again Mila meets Rick’s gaze. “You didn’t answer my question. Where are the others?”

“Michonne’s back too, and Heath and Scott.” 

“That’s not all of you.”

“We lost some.” Rick says, knows what she is referring to, or whom. “He’s with Abraham and Sasha.” he continues. “He’ll be alright.” Rick takes her hand, squeezes it. “Thanks.”

Mila looks at her hand.

“For what?”

“You held the stands here. Made sure people were safe. Protected them.” Rick lets go of her hand and takes the vodka bottle, takes a new sip. “I’m scared too. But I need you now. There’s about a hundred walkers on the other side of that wall.” he points towards the window. “Daryl’s not here. Glenn’s gone. People died. Morale’s low and the walls are weak. I need you to help me fix this. To keep this place safe.”

“I just-” Mila says. ”I just need to-” she pauses. “I don’t know what I need. Besides getting batshit drunk.” 

She takes back the bottle from Rick and drinks. When in doubt, she needs more vodka. That should be a Russian proverb, if anything, she thinks. What she really needs, or wants, besides alcohol, she can’t have in this life. 

That’s when she sees the ring on Rick’s ring finger. A wedding band. Huh, she hasn’t noticed it before.

“You’re married?” 

Rick looks down on his bloodstained, bruised hand.

“Was. Or-” Rick pauses, strokes the wedding band. “She died.”

Mila pulls out her necklace from inside her shirt and holds out for him to see. Next to the small, dainty gold heart she got from her mother at her twelfth birthday, a narrow gold ring with three small stones, dangles on the gold chain. 

“He died- turned, a few months ago.” Mila looks at the three diamonds, next to each other. On the inside, it says ‘Can’t start a fire without a spark’. It must’ve been hard for Jim, the devoted country music fan, to pick a Bruce Springsteen engraving instead of some cheesy country love song. “I killed him.”

”Juri’s father?”

”I don’t even know who that is. That’s another, fucked up story.” Mila looks down and takes a bountiful sip of vodka. Yeah, that really is a story for another time, advantageously if every person attending at that moment is heavily drunk. ”We had it all figured out. Jim was going to adopt Juri, we were going to get married. We were attacked in Louisville, Kentucky, on our way to his parents in Oklahoma. He didn’t tell me he was bitten. Two days later he turned. At a motel in Missouri.” she takes another sip. ”I hid Juri in a closet. I thought I was going to die. Jim was big, tall, all muscles. But I killed him. Buried him. Left him in a shallow grave behind the motel.” Mila looks at Rick. “You asked me if I’d killed anyone, do you remember? Alive or dead. I killed Jim. Whatever he was, dead or alive or something in between, I killed him. I did that. And now I have to live with that for the rest of my life. Morgan’s wrong. All life isn’t precious. That bastard down in that cell, he ain’t precious. But Jim’s was. And he’s dead.” 

“That’s called surviving.” 

“No, that’s called unfair.” Mila looks at Juri, lying next to her on his back with the headphones on. She pats him gently on the foot. “He’s the reason why I went out there today, partially. Or, more like, the reason I went out there, and came back. I came back to him.”

Rick takes her hand again. 

“You’re brave. And you care about people. You showed it today if anything.” Rick declares. “You saved people, protected them. Carl and Judith included. You’re part of this group. Both of you. People need other people to stay sane, to stay alive.” 

Something runs down her cheek. A tear. Oh for christ sake. Half a bottle of vodka doesn’t stop tears, she needs at least a whole bottle for that. To become completely numb, emotionally. Rick puts his arm around her shoulder and pulls her closer. It’s a friendly hug, it reminds Mila of her foster brothers, Adam and Peter Galka. A brotherly, kind embrace. They sit like that for a while, next to each other, sharing the vodka.

“He asked about you.” Rick says after a moment’s silence. “Daryl. In his own way. Wanted me to make sure you were safe.” 

“I’m feeling brilliant.” Mila exclaims confidently. That might also be because of the vodka, but she doesn’t tell. Truthfully, she’s exhausted. “Brilliant…”

“Yeah.” Rick nods. “Can’t say the same about the guy in the cell. What did you do to him?”


	17. Jersey on my mind (Part 17)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl disobeys Rick’s orders and maneuvers the motorcycle back to Alexandria. But what awaits him when he arrives?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.I hope you will like the story.

The wind whips Daryl’s face as he passes the tarnished sign at such a high speed he’s sure he’s gonna drive the motorcycle to its breaking point. ‘Alexandria; a fresh start’ flies by like an arrow. Dammit, it’s not going fast enough. But it’s dark and he doesn’t want to risk colliding with any backliners from the herd. 

As soon as they reached an intersection Daryl took off, leaving Sasha and Abraham to lead the herd the last couple of miles. He would never have left unless he was sure they would make it on their own. 

He’s sure something happened back at Alexandria, just knows something has happened. Over the walkie talkie he could hear something was not right. He called out to Rick, without getting an answer. Then radio silence followed. 

He increases speed, squeezes the throttle, pushes the bike to the limit. How long has he been driving? He had to take an unbearable detour to avoid the herd. A short distance he had to drive out into the terrain to get around a dozen cars, blocking the road. Just when Daryl thinks that he must be close, he pulls the brake and digs the heels of his boots down the tarmac. The tires squeaks and starts to smoke from the friction. Daryl stops with a thud and breathes frantically by the sight in front of him. It’s the back of the herd, the one that broke off by the sound of the horn earlier. It must be at least twenty of them blocking the road to Alexandria. He can’t take them down on his own, not now. 

He quickly gets off the motorcycle and pushes it down the ditch, further into the forest out of sight of the flock. He ducks behind some bushes and tries to gather his thoughts. Rick doesn’t respond to the walkie talkie. Walkers may have surrounded Alexandria. That’s all he knows at this time. He has to leave the motorcycle and continue on foot. He therefore begins to leap through the woods in the dark. Why doesn’t he see anything? If everything were as usual, Daryl would’ve seen lights from Alexandria. But he sees nothing. With determined steps he moves rapidly through the forest. 

His heart beats frantically in his chest and the sweat is running down his forehead as he starts to run, as the terrain gets more accessible. Not until he approaches the edge of the forest and sees the wall and the walkers, pressing up against it, desperately, or miraculously, trying to walk straight through it. In addition, it is completely silent, except for the growling, guttural sounds from the dead bastards. And, yeah, the truck, driven straight into the wall by the church. Something’s definitely happened. Daryl leans up against a tree branch, out of sight. He finds the button on the walkie talkie.

“Rick?”

No answer.

“Rick?”

It’s useless. Radio-silence has never been more clear. He looks out from behind the tree, knows what he has to do to get back inside. And it won’t be through the main gate, but over it. Daryl makes sure the crossbow is loaded, feels his heartbeat increase. With the crossbow raised in front of him, Daryl moves quickly and smoothly, towards the wall; looks to the right, to the left and back to the right… 

Fifteen seconds. That’s how long it takes before he’s discovered. Fifteen seconds before a limping bastard attacks and Daryl puts an arrow straight between its cloudy eyes, before continuing making his way towards the wall. He’s scared of what’s on the other side, scared of what he might see. Will there be a massive slaughter scene? Bodies scattered around the streets? He shakes off the thought, approaching the wall and the walkers, pressing themselves up towards it. He runs towards the truck, that’s his only chance. To get up on top of it and over to the other side, into Alexandria. He starts to climb. The truck has driven straight into the corner of the church. He manages to get on top and runs over the trailer. He stops at the hood, holding his breath. The sight on the other side gets him off balance. No carnage. No dead bodies. It’s dark, silent and he doesn’t see a single person. Except-

“Daryl!”

Spencer stares at him from the watchtower, as if he can’t believe his eyes. He looks fine. Unharmed. 

“What happened?” Daryl says and climbs down the truck and makes his way over to the watchtower. 

“Wolves.” Spencer replies in a lowered voice. “They attacked. But we made it. We got ‘em.” 

From the main gate, Daryl sees both Aaron and Maggie approaching him. He directly sees in Maggie’s eyes that something is not right. Aaron looks relieved and worried, but unharmed as well. Where are the others? That’s what he asks when he embraces Maggie.

“They’re not back.” she says stiffly.

“Have you seen them?” Aaron asks.

Daryl shakes his head, telling that he left Abraham and Sasha to lead the herd. They should be on their way back by now. Hopefully. They start to walk towards the house. On the way, they pass smeared blood on the ground, a tame attempt to clean up in the streets. People are starting to appear on their porches. The houses are darkened and there’s a generally subdued atmosphere over the Safe-Zone.

In the distance, Daryl sees Rick coming towards him, with Michonne by his side. Carl stands on the porch and out of the house comes Carol. Whatever happened here, they managed to turn the situation in their favor. Everything seems calm. Yet the mood is low. 

“You came back?” Rick says when he stops in front of him. 

“Yeah.”

“I had it under control.”

“Didn’t sound like that.” Daryl scoffs and nods at the walkie talkie. “What happened?”

“The Wolves attacked the RV.” Rick replies. “I asked you to stay.”

Daryl doesn’t know what to say. On one hand he wants to yell that Rick could lift the damn walkie talkie and respond, but at the same time he’s ashamed; ashamed that he did the opposite of what he promised him. Just because he can’t control his emotions. The situation is saved by Carol, who hugs him.

“I’m happy you’re back.” she says softly and smiles. “We’re fine. All of us.” 

Her way of emphasizing ’all of us’ makes Daryl wonder if she can really read thoughts after all. Daryl’s eyes search for someone. Someone whom he doesn’t see at first, but who then hurries down the porch, seemingly well, but with a deadpan face. Mila walks, or rather strides towards him. 

For a second Daryl’s sure that she’s gonna give him a punch right in the kisser. Unlike Carol’s warm smile, Mila looks stern. Therefore, he’s both surprised and relieved when Mila strikes her arms around his neck, pulls him into a tight embrace and presses her body against his. Daryl thinks he’s going to break, or melt and turn into a puddle. It feels like a ton of bricks is lifted off his back, the belt around his chest is completely gone. He hasn’t thought about how short she is before. He inhales the scent of her, her hair. A cocktail of flowers, something warm and spicy, that makes him almost feverish, combined with vodka. Has she been drinking? 

He wants to say something. Damn it, he wants to say a lot of things. But once again, his ability to speak has gone into hiding somewhere. Mila lets go of his neck and takes a step back. He lets go of her, but that embrace felt better than anything he’d ever felt before. It was real. Warm. Special.

“Sorry I was a jerk this morning.” 

Really? That’s what he has to say to her? He has had plenty of time to figure out what to say to her during his ride back here. Dammit his heart is about to burst and all he has to say is… that? 

“I-” it’s as if she doesn’t know what to say either. Instead she points her index finger at him. “I was worried!” 

“Fine, stop.. pointing at me.” 

“I point because I care!” Mila sputters and turns on the spot, her ponytail slaps him on the arm, and walks back towards the house. 

Daryl finds Mila in the kitchen later, after being briefed by Rick and the others on the current situation. Mila’s standing at the kitchen island, looking at two white slices of bread lying on the counter in front of her. Next to them stands jars of pickles, peanut butter and jam, everything she managed to find in the kitchen cupboards. It’s the vodka bottle next to the strawberry jam that catches his attention. There’s a small amount left on the bottom of the big bottle. She has kept herself busy. It’s impressive she’s standing on her legs. 

When he heard the others talk about what had happened, how the Wolves attacked the Safe-Zone and its residents, Daryl could hardly believe his ears. Not his eyes either probably, if he’d been there. Mila had given them a real rumble. Like a freight train she’d attacked the Wolves, wearing what sounded like jeans, bra, boots and the fedora hat. In addition, they had put the Wolf, who caused Mila her wound in the woods, in the makeshift cell. He was in poor condition. Partly because of Mila, who shot his kneecap to pieces and then tortured him, without so much as a wink. On the contrary. If Spencer told the truth, Mila smiled while she did it. 

“She was completely… I mean-” Spencer grasped for words. “It didn’t bother her. At all.”

Daryl looks at the woman in the kitchen, who seems to consider whether she should open the jar with pickles or peanut butter first. Mila looks up and meets his gaze. 

”You’ve washed up.” she says. ”Pigs are gonna start flying too?”

Again, his entire oral cavity is transformed into something similar to the driest desert. Soon I’ll start spitting sand, Daryl thinks and swallows. Mila doesn’t take notice however. She nods to the bottle with a led label. 

“There’s a sip left on the bottom.” she says. “If you want it.”

“Nah, I’m good.” he manages to utter. “More interested in something to eat.”

Mila holds out her hands.

“This is what the kitchen offers tonight. I’m no Carol in the kitchen but… there’s-” she holds up the jar with pickled cucumber. “Pickles. And peanuts butter. And boring, white, bread.” 

“Ain’t nothing wrong with this.” Daryl takes one of the bread slices in front of her and takes a bite.

“It’s made of dust and air.” Mila notes and glares at him. “Why’d you come back?”

“Does it matter?”

Mila shrugs her shoulders, takes the jar of pickles and opens it. He wants to tell her. Tell her that he cares. Why does it have to be that difficult? While struggling with his inner thoughts, Mila takes a cucumber out of the jar, sticks it between her teeth and starts eating. She unscrews the cork on the vodka bottle and takes a small sip.

“How’s the scrapbooking?” 

“I’ll be fine.” Mila replies. “You didn’t answer. Why did you come back?” 

Daryl looks up at her through squinting eyes. On the inside he’s like a storm, and yet he manages to stay calm. She gives him a sense of peace of mind; yeah, besides himself pondering himself into madness over his own feelings. Daryl could accuse her of causing him to feel like that and withdraw and avoid her. But he doesn’t want to. He likes her. He likes spending time with her. 

He remembers the dinner the night before. All of a sudden, while the others, him included, talked over the table, he heard how Mila began to lull Juri to sleep. Very quietly she hummed a song to get him to fall asleep. 

Daryl hesitates before he opens his mouth. 

“You remember that song you hummed last night-” he starts to hum and Mila looks, with slight surprise, at him. A faint smile appears on her lips. She clearly didn’t know he heard. ”I thought about that.” Daryl’s gaze intensifies. ”I missed it- missed you.”

It took him all of his willpower, all of his courage and guts, to say it. His eyes flicker between her face and his own hands. Before Mila can reply from the other side of the counter, they are interrupted by the sound of small feet against stairs. 

“Go back to bed, Malysh.” Mila says towards Juri, standing in the stairs, barefoot, in pajamas, grasping the ear of a stuffed toy rabbit in his hand. “I’ll make you a sandwich. Let’s go.”

Juri doesn’t move. Instead he bursts into a big smile when he sees Daryl.

“Listen to her, kiddo.” Daryl says. 

Juri nods and climbs back upstairs, holding the stuffed toy rabbit. Daryl turns his head back towards Mila. Did she even hear him pour out his heart, seconds ago? He doesn’t dare to find out.

“He seems okay?” he asks instead.

“If you mean about before-” Mila opens the jar with peanut butter. “He’s fine.”

“Heard ya’ saved the whole place?” 

She chuckles. 

“Which drunk did you talk to, if I may ask?” Mila meets his gaze while she spreads a layer of peanut butter over the bread. “I didn’t. I helped… a little. It’s a big difference.” She puts the lid back on the jar with peanut butter and opens the jar of jam. “If anything, I think I did a… not that charming first impression on the residents. Now, I’m known as the crazy Russian girl, torturing people in her underwear.”

“Thought they were joking ‘bout that part.” he says and feels a rush of heat run throughout his body.

“The torturing or the bra?” Mila smirks. “I’m afraid not. I’m damaged goods, Daryl. I’m ‘bra and torture’-crazy.” Mila takes a new slice of bread, presses it on top of the other and puts the sandwich on a plate. “More about that another time. Sorry, I have to… feed my offspring.” She nods to the plate. “I’m really glad you’re back.”

Mila gives him a tired, but warm, smile before she leaves the kitchen and hurries up the stairs, leaving Daryl more confused than before.


	18. Jersey on my mind (Part 18)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mila comforts Maggie, who faces a life changing event and is distraught over the fact that Glenn’s still missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.I hope you will like the story.

“Hey, it does none of us any good that you refuse to eat.” Mila leans over the table and takes Maggie’s hand and squeezes it between hers. “It’s enough that he doesn’t want to.” She nods towards Juri, who sits next to her in his pyjamas and refuses to eat his oatmeal.

Maggie looks awful. She was sitting at the table alone when Mila came downstairs with Juri, to give him breakfast. The beautiful face was sad, worried and the shadows under her green eyes told Mila that Maggie probably hadn’t slept at all. 

The green, swollen eyes are torn from the tabletop and meet Mila’s over the table. 

“My grandmother was psychic. Apparently, it skips a generation, and I’m sure Glenn is fine. He’s probably on his way back now.” Mila tries to convince, not only Maggie, but herself as well. But she wants to think that her gut feeling tells her that she’s at least a little psychic. But it could just as well be hunger. “Now, eat! If not for your sake-” Mila nods towards her friends stomach. 

As soon as they sat down at the table earlier, Maggie bursted into tears. Mila didn’t know how to react at first. Consoling crying children was easier than crying adults; the times Juri had tripped over Mila used to kiss him on the ‘wound’ and then gave him a popsicle, which he ate while cuddling in her lap. To put Maggie on her knee would just feel very, very strange. Mila asked Juri to go and wash his hands and then, verbally, started consoling Maggie. 

“I think I’m pregnant.” Maggie cried with shivering hands. “Or, I must be. I am. I am pregnant. And I’m so scared.”

Mila knew exactly what Maggie meant, knew exactly how scared she was. 

Mila was told that she was pregnant when it was too late for her to do anything about it. Naively enough, she just thought she had gained some weight around her stomach due to her love for mozzarella pizza and french fries. No matter how much Mila cried and pleated, the doctor couldn’t do anything about it. In the end she came to the point where she was so desperate that Mila overdosed on Ellie Galka’s sleeping pills to force a miscarriage. Adam Galka found her in the bathroom of the Galka home and drove her straight to the emergency, while trying to force Mila to vomit into a Burger King paper bag. The months that followed were more or less awful, mostly because Mila didn’t want to be a mother. She was in the middle of her university education and had started a new, happy, unproblematic life. And on top of it all, Mila had no idea who the father of the child was, though she and her friend Laura had their suspicions that it could be a tall, blond exchange student Mila had a one night stand with. It really didn’t make the situation better. Not even her mom’s daily calls from Russia made Mila feel at ease. It didn’t matter if you had a mother who was a pediatrician, if she sat on the other side of the earth! Mila didn’t feel anything towards ‘fetus’ (as she called ‘the thing inside of her’) until the water broke, during the second half of a baseball game, a month earlier than expected. Childbirth was the most painful thing Mila had ever experienced. Worse than jumping into the river Volga in the middle of the winter. Worse than anything! For a while she was sure she would die. But afterwards, when she saw Juri, lying in that plastic bin later in the day, she burst into tears; promised herself to do everything in her power to make him happy and feel loved, no matter how scared she was. 

She had all the prerequisites for things to go well, before, during and after birth. Now, however, the situation is different. There’s no hospitals and the only doctor they have available isn’t even a ‘doctor-doctor’. It’s perfectly understandable that Maggie’s terrified. Had it been Mila, she would probably have thrown herself from the nearest cliff by now. But Maggie has Glenn. 

Maggie sighs, smiles weakly at Mila and takes the bowl of oatmeal.

“I just…” Maggie stirs the oatmeal. “I always thought my family would be there when this-” She swallows. ”But everyone’s dead. Except Glenn.” Maggie sighs. ”Things just never turns out the way you expect them to.”

“Amen to that.” Mila yawns, leans back in the chair and scratches her hair, which has turned into a bird’s nest during the night, before she peers at Juri. “I swear if you don’t eat that oatmeal…”

Juri interrupts her, by making the sign for ‘blueberries’ with his hands.

“I don’t have any blueberries.” Mila replies and looks at Maggie. ”Do you have any blueberries on you?”

Maggie smiles and shakes her head at Juri. 

“Sorry sweetie, no blueberries.” 

Mila then starts feeding him, under threat that if he doesn’t eat he will not be allowed to go out today. 

”So what’s up with you two?” Maggie looks at her with a clever face, while poking around in the bowl with the spoon. Mila raises her eyebrows, trying to focus on the oatmeal in front of her and Juri, who has crawled up in her lap and once again refuses to eat; he wants blueberries, end of story. ”You and Daryl?”

”Nothing, I guess?” Mila says.

”Didn’t look like that.” Maggie smiles.

”What does it look like?” Mila has an idea of what Maggie is implying. “We’ve… talked? Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Maggie points at her with the spoon. 

”Might be the talking part.” she says while chewing. ”He’s not used to it.”

”One could think that would’ve changed since, back then… or whatever.” Mila stirs around the oats and looks down at Juri, and once again tries to get that spoon into his mouth.

While Mila was bedwritten, Carol told her everything she needed to know about the people in the community. She told her that Daryl had been living all of his life in the shadow of society; isolated, managing his own business, not always according to the law, living with his criminal brother and his friends. Glenn told her, when he and Maggie visited, that Daryl had a brother, apparently a real asshole, who was dead, killed by Daryl after turning. Mila wanted to ask Daryl about that, and a lot more. He’s not verbal, but his eyes express a lot. She cannot figure out what it is specifically, which drives her mad with curiosity. Her father used to say that her indomitable curiosity was as much of a strength as it was a weakness for her. But she can’t stop herself from thinking that Daryl actually wants to talk to her. Is he shy? 

”What was it like?” Maggie suddenly says. ”Russia? Your life? You haven’t talked about what happened before the outbreak.” 

”Does it really matter?” 

”You said you looked for your family.”

”They’re not my real family.” Mila explains. ”They’re my foster family. My mother is still in Russia, probably dead. I came here with my father. Things happened and I ended up in foster care, at the Galka’s. Joe, Ellie, and their sons, Peter and Adam. As I see it, I don’t have anyone else here, besides Juri.”

”What if they, you know-” 

”At least I would like to know then. They might be dead, I’m aware that’s a possibility, but at least I would know.”

”I guess.” Maggie sighs and throws an eye towards the window, out on the street. ”Family means something very different now, I suppose. It’s diffuse.”

“Hasn’t it always?” Mila smiles and takes the spoonful of oatmeal that she tried to force feed Juri with, and puts it in her own mouth. “Family isn’t blood. Family is the people who want your best, who are there for you, no matter what.” She looks away. “I had to learn it the hard way.”

The two women’s eyes meet over the table. 

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Take your time.” Maggie puts her hand on Mila’s. “I’m glad you’re here. I really am.”

“You’re just happy you have someone to ask about morning sickness, sore breasts, being tired all the time-” 

They laugh, but stop when the front door opens and closes. The next moment Rick walks into the room. 

“Mornin.’” he greets them. “Mornin’ little guy.” he nods at Juri, who looks excited with being greeted by the former cop. Rick signs to Mila to cover Juri’s ears. 

“You win.” Mila says to Juri and puts him down on the floor. “No breakfast. But I want you to go and get dressed.”

The boy runs off triumphant over having won the breakfast war, and disappears up the stairs. Mila turns back to Rick.

“There’s a crack in the wall.” Rick says. “It’s weakened.”

“Okay, we’ll reinforce it.” Mila replies and starts to eat Juri’s small portion of oatmeal; it’s a mother’s job, to eat up her offspring’s leftovers. “There, problem solved.” 

“We’re workin’ on a plan for that. I just wanted you to know. We need to be alert. I also want you for guard duty tonight.” Rick looks at her. “If you’re up for it.”

“I would need to get a babysitter.” Mila puts the now empty bowl down and wipes her mouth on her sleeve. “I’ll ask Carol. If you don’t want to, you know… practice-” she looks at Maggie. “Who else, by the way?” 

”Daryl.”

Once again the two women’s eyes meet. For the first time this morning Maggie gives her an amused smile and winks. If that makes her happy; everything to make Maggie’s day a little easier. Mila nods towards Rick. 

“Great. Anything else?”


	19. Jersey on my mind (Part 19)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do not bite off more than you can chew. Well, too late for that. Daryl gets to know more, stranger things than he’d ever imagined about Mila’s past, during guard duty. One thing is certain; vodka’s required!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.I hope you will like the story.

Mila’s feet dangle in the air as she sits on the edge of the guard post, while looking out over the surroundings. Next to her on the floor lies a bottle of vodka, in case she gets bored. She turns her eyes to the flickering flame of the oil lantern, the only source of light. Besides the lantern its pitch black. The darkness is wrapped around the surroundings like a heavy blanket. No lights are on in the houses. 

Before she put on her jacket, hid the vodka bottle in the inner pocket and went out to the guard tower Mila tucked Juri in for the night. She helped him choose a cassette tape to fall asleep to, made sure he had all of his ‘friends’ also tucked in; the brown dog named Jeff (Mila had no idea why), his soft bunny named Bruce after Bruce Springsteen and the teddy bear that goes by the name Eddie, after Eddie Vedder. But Mila hasn’t been able to figure out Jeff. Who’s Jeff? Instead of asking him about it, she kissed Juri on the forehead and left for guard duty. Daryl wasn’t at the guard tower when she arrived, so Mila made herself comfortable. 

She taps her fingers towards the floor and hums the tune to “Hungry heart”, starts to sing faintly. Springsteen makes her think of the summers in New Jersey. Driving around on hot summer days, the long days at the beach in Point Pleasant, eating tons of ice cream and drinking Pepsi Cola, riding around Atlantic City with Darya and Laura in Darya’s dad’s convertible- 

“You sing well.”

Mila looks up. Daryl has joined her, finally. In one hand he holds the crossbow and in the other two bottles of water. 

“You’re late.” 

”You’re easy prey, sitting like this.” Daryl sits down besides her, lets his legs swing over the edge next to hers and gives her one of the bottles.

”Wolves are gone. Walkers don’t jump.” Mila removes the lid and takes a sip of water. “I think I’m fine.” 

”You’re really good.” Daryl looks down at his knees. “I mean, singing. Your accent disappears when you sing.” 

”Yeah. I’ve heard that.” Mila laughs and puts the water bottle down, next to the vodka bottle. ”It would sound even better if I had a guitar and a cowboy hat.” With a smile she grabs the Vodka bottle from the floor, unscrews it and takes a bountiful sip, before offering it to Daryl. ”I’ve heard you should drink at least one liter a day.”

”Thought that applied to water?” Daryl lifts an eyebrow and brings the bottle to the mouth and drinks, lets out a cough as he lowers it. ”Gotta get you a guitar then, Jersey.”

“Yeah I wouldn’t worry too much about that.” She replies. “It sorta’ feels pretty pointless now. I haven’t played in forever.” she meets Daryl’s gaze. “I was engaged to this guy, before- It’s because of him I play the guitar, and sing in ‘American’.”

Daryl stiffens up at her words. It’s barely noticeable, but Mila notices. 

“He’s dead anyway, so it doesn’t matter.” Mila takes a sip of vodka. “My father hated him for encouraging my interest in music. Said it was a waste of time. He didn’t understand the phenomenon ‘hobbies’.” Mila tries to remember what her dear papa yelled at her through the glass. It was hard to hear exactly what he yelled, since he banged at the window, but she could make out some of it. ”Eto chepukha, Milena, chepukha!” she repeats. “Nonsense.”

“Seems like a charmer.” Daryl replies. “Ain’t a waste though. I like it.”

Mila glances at the broad archer next to her. Somehow he reminds her of Jim; tall, broad shoulders and muscles. Jim had brown hair and beard, a bit more groomed than the Southern archer, but still- 

The first time Mila laid her eyes on Jim was during a gig at a bar in Brooklyn. She was there with her friend Laura. Jim played guitar in the band and halfway through he pulled his shirt off. Milas eyes were glued to his bare chest during the rest of the performance. Even a blind person would have noticed such an intense stare down; as did Jim on stage. Afterward he asked her over to their table, and she fell like a paw for the big Oklahoma native, with the pretty eyes and the kind smile. Jim was big as a bear and kind as a puppy. He was warm, had a boisterous but contagious laugh, he was friendly and charismatic. Everybody around Mila adored Jim, everybody except papa, which made sense. Papa hated everyone, except himself.

Physically, Daryl reminds her of Jim somewhat, but their personalities are like night and day. Jim was able to entertain an entire room full of people, and happily did so by telling stories or playing the guitar. Daryl would probably never even think of entering such a room. He’s encased in armor, a hard shell no one seems to be able to break. She hasn’t heard an ounce of bursting laughter from him and he barely talks. And yet she likes his company. When she saw him walk down the street into the Safe-Zone last night it felt like a ton of brick was dropped from her chest. Of course she was still angry with him for some unimportant reason she can’t really remember now, but she was happy for having him back.

“Where’s he by the way?” Daryl asks. “Your old man. Ya’ said ya’ came here together.”

“In prison.”

The statement doesn’t seem to surprise Daryl significantly.

“What for?” 

Mila hands him the vodka bottle again. Daryl looks puzzled at it. 

“If you want to hear about it, you might need it.” Mila explains and doesn’t take her eyes away from his. “There’s a legit reason why I have alcohol problems.”

“Haven’t noticed.” the archer winks at her over the bottle and drinks. “Why’s he locked up?”

“Murder. And for kidnapping me.” 

It might be so easy to say it because she feels some kind of connection to the man sitting next to her, or maybe it’s because the whole world went to hell and papa, Mila’s perdition, her Achilles heel, probably is dead by now. 

Mila was the only child. Her father, her papa, wanted to have a son. Instead he got Mila. Her mother, who loved her more than life itself, couldn’t bear more children and Mila was punished for that her entire life by her father. Papa was stern on her from the start. Sergey Yuruchenko’s offspring wouldn’t be a weakling. Her sole purpose in life would be to make him proud. Like a show dog. He hardened Mila like steel; dragged her out on the frozen river Volga during the winters for an ice bath, a procedure to ‘man her up’. If Mila hesitated or began to cry she had to stay longer in the water. Eventually she stopped crying. He taught her to fight, games that often resulted in cracked lips and black eyes. Sometimes Mila began to cry because it hurt and she felt scared, but he assured her it was a fun game, and she believed him. He coached her in sports, to make sure she would win. Second place was never enough. Mila could’ve easily become an olympic marathon athlete, if she would have had the choice. But he had already set out her entire future. 

”My mama loved me with all of her heart and papa made sure that I never forgot how he grieved the son he never had. It was my burden and my responsibility to prove that I was worthy of his affection. I was a wreck emotionally. Thrown between boundless love and emotional abuse.” Mila pauses and takes another mouthful of vodka. “I got respect from him for the first time when I was fifteen. He firmly argued that if a man couldn’t hit a soup can fifty yards away with a gun after drinking a whole bottle of vodka, he was a wimp. He didn’t count on me, a fifteen year old girl to even dream about trying.” She raises her eyebrows at Daryl. ”But I passed the test and he eased the leash.”

After that summer, Mila had a great year. She was ‘allowed’ to be an ordinary teenager in all its meaning. She went to parties with her friends, dreamed of Leonardo Dicaprio when she kissed her first boyfriend Dima for the first time and she was convinced that life would continue like that.

“Then one day he asked me to come with him on a trip abroad, for work. It was just the two of us at home that day and he was so different. Friendly even. It felt odd, but he was so convincing. He asked me to be ready in an hour with a bag. I felt so excited. Not until we walked through the gate at the airport I understood where we were going. I couldn’t believe it. We were going to America! He made the whole trip sound so exciting. It felt like we were friends for the first time. That I finally had a father.”

Mila pauses. She’d thought about that moment many times since that plane ride. How it all was just an act. How he used Mila’s cluelessness to save his own ass. In reality he didn’t feel like that at all. He didn’t care about her. 

”We were arrested as soon as we got through the passport control at Newark. We were separated, put in different rooms. I panicked the entire time, fought and cried. An interpreter and two policemen came and told me that he was arrested. I tried to convince them that it must have been a misunderstanding. But it wasn’t. I was kidnapped and papa was internationally wanted for murder in Russia by Interpol. Or serial murders, I think it’s called, in the case of more than three victims.”

“How many?” he asks. 

Their eyes meet through the darkness. The only sound that’s heard is the chirping cicadas, the wind rattling in the trees and the thudding sound of the walkers crashing into each other on the other side of the wall. Well, he hasn’t run away yet, Mila thinks.

“Including the policeman he killed at the station the day after we arrived; ten.”

Daryl doesn’t even try to hide his astonishment. 

”A woman disappeared in Moscow in- gosh, I don’t even remember the year. Anyway, she was found under a bridge, two days later. Then another woman was found a few weeks later, under a viaduct. Seven women and two men around Moscow. One woman was completely beheaded. I was fourteen when they found her, and my father told me to ’be safe’ when I walked home from gymnastics practice.”

Mila remembers almost all of them by name. They were read out during the trial in New York, while images of them were displayed on a projector. Mila saw their bruised faces, the dead eyes in the pale, straight faces. No matter how awful it was, she couldn’t look away, like passing a car accident. Mila had to watch, to understand that it was her papa, who worried when she would go home alone from gymnastics, he who always urged her to beware of boys in a group (or boys in general), that had done these horrible actions. The youngest victim was eighteen and was found in a shallow part of Volga. They had to identify it through dental cards. In court, sitting on that hard bench in between Ellie and Joe Galka, Mila desperately tried to meet her father’s gaze, wanted him to turn around where he sat, with his back against her. When he finally did, Mila didn’t see a trace of regret or empathy in them.

”He kidnapped ya’ to- what, to save himself?” 

“It didn’t seem suspicious if he traveled with his daughter. I was his ticket out of it. If he did get caught, he could use me as-” Mila fiddles on a thread in her jeans. “-Yeah, I haven’t figured out that part yet. He really knew how to inflict maximum damage to his advantages. Because of his position, working for the state, which is… corrupted beyond imagination, he could change my documents without anyone asking, making himself my sole guardian. On paper, I no longer had a mother. It was- He was so split. On one hand, a well regarded worker for the state, modest and punctual. And on the other hand, emotionally disturbed, a psychopath. A monster.” She sighs. “The same day we were arrested he overpowered a police officer. He killed him, granting him life in prison here, not risking being extradited to Russia. Social services took care of me and I ended up at the Galka’s. The first six months I visited papa in prison weekly. It really fucks you up in the head, being pulled back to the root of evil, to one’s perpetrator. In my case, it was the same person. Perpetrator and father. Evil impersonated and the only person I felt I had some connection to here. And yet, I never got an explanation to why he did what he did. Eventually, thanks to the Galka’s, I stopped visiting. He didn’t like that, being out of control.”

Mila had never revolted, but when she had to acclimatize to a new culture and language all on her own, that changed. She could just as well have ended up dead behind a dumpster from drugs, but instead she went on to study at Columbia University. When papa found out that she studied to become a dental nurse, instead of a ‘real dentist’, or ‘the president of all dentists in the entire world’, or anything equally grandiose, he went all mad and had to be dragged out of the visitors room by the guards. A few days later he made a phone call and yelled at Mila for three straight minutes, until the call broke. When Mila paid him a much involuntary visit a few weeks later he’d calmed down a bit; he’d been in solitary confinement since that lash out. 

”Of all professions…” Papa snarled into the handset. ”Dental nurse? A servant! Milaya, why are you causing me this pain?”

Mila pulls herself away from the memory of Southport Correctional facility’s visiting room, back to the present, to the cool, calm night, where she shares a bottle of vodka with the archer.

“As far as I’m concerned I don’t have a father.” Mila meets Daryl’s gaze through the faint, warm light from the lantern. “I moved on. I made it. I got pregnant while in uni and tried to commit suicide. That was a nightmare. Once again I had to… switch on survival mode. I felt so defective. How could someone with a father like mine, someone who’s been hurled between motherly love and fatherly abuse, possibly be a good parent.” Mila takes a sip of vodka. The bottle is almost completely empty by now. “I haven’t had much space for making my own choices in life. Until recently.” she says. “I did some stupid choices on the way here. But at least I turned out… fairly good in the end.”

They look at each other in silence. Nothing is heard but the walkers collected hissing breaths, like a choir of rotten asthmatics, gasping for air, while pushing up against the wall. Sometimes a thud, like flesh against metal, is heard when the ones in the back push the ones in the front extra hard into the wall.

”Ya’ think he’s alive? Or they?” Daryl asks, husky. ”Your parents?”

Mila shrugs her shoulders; she doesn’t know. After a while in the weeks following the outbreak, the phone calls to her mother in Russia stopped working. Her father can’t be alive. It would be impossible, just as impossible as it is to escape a high security prison like Southport. 

”What about your foster parents?” 

”I don’t know.” Mila bites her lower lip. ”When the two of us came back to Jersey the Galka’s were gone. So we left, me and Juri.”

”Ain’t too bad, though.” Daryl says, in what Mila thinks is an attempt to cheer her up. “He’s a great kid.”

”He is.” she smiles. ”I never thought I’d make it, being on my own with him like this. He’s my everything, the better person of the two of us; wakes me in the morning, cheers me up and is always happy. I don’t know how he does it. He’s three!”

”And a half.” Daryl smirks. 

“Touché.” Mila looks at him. “Gosh. I’m surprised you haven’t ran away.”

”Why would I? My old man was a boozer, an ass.” Daryl replies, and his eyes suddenly shift from almost warm, to dark. “I hadn’t much of a mother. Smoked herself to death, burnt the entire fuckin’ house down at the same time. Ma’ brother went in and out of juvenile. Died, as everyone else.” Daryl hesitates, but then he continues. ”I’m a nobody. Always been. I don’t have anything to run from.”

Mila lays her hand on top of Daryl’s, that rests against the floorboards. He twitches by her sudden move, like a stray dog that has never felt a friendly touch. 

“You’re not a nobody.” Mila says, emphasising every word. “You saved my life. Heck, I think you saved more lives than my sorry ass. Do you always push those who care about you away?”

Daryl becomes silent.

”Sorry.”

”Don’t be.” Mila says. “Honestly, It’s like you don’t think you deserve anything; people being kind to you, that people care. That’s not healthy. No wonder you’re so peevish. Just let the guard down once in a while. You do so much for everybody here, who are so thankful for it and want to show that to you. Let them. You need it. Let people in. Have you never done that?” 

”Never had a chance.” he answers. ”It’s always been bloody knuckles and shards of glass.”

”But does that mean that the whole world is dark and evil? I’ve had a bumpy ride too and I’m not all stiff and irritated with everything.”

”Well you ain’t me.”

”And thank god for that.” Mila smiles a little. ”No matter what your life was like before it doesn’t have to continue being like that.” she gets silent, before she meets his eyes again. ”Have you ever just sat down and thought about what you want? Not what everybody else needs, or what they tell you to do, no matter what you think. Have you?”

”Never gotten that chance either.” Daryl grunts, and continues to look at his shoes.

“Well, do that.” Mila holds up the bottle of vodka in front of her. It’s empty. “Crap…”

“Ya’ haven’t had enough of that?”

Mila puts her head to the side and smiles dazzling.

“I told you I have problems.” Mila smirks and puts the bottle down. “But I’m workin’ on fixing that. Not tonight though.”

The corners of Daryl’s mouth curves slightly upward and he chuckles faintly. They sit quietly for a moment before he once again turns to her. 

“You’re really a dentist?” 

“Dental nurse.” Mila corrects. “What, are you surprised?” 

“Not at all.” Daryl replies. “How’s that like?” 

“We’ll take that one another time.” Mila adjusts herself on the floor. “I have to save some cock-and-bull stories about tartar and teeth extractions for later.” 

“Can’t wait.” Daryl smirks. “If you want to sing something, I don’t mind.”

Mila smiles. They sit next to each other, watching the night turn into early dawn. Mila sings faintly, to avoid unnecessary attention from the walkers, dangling her legs in the air, while Daryl’s eyes rest on the horizon, wearing a pleasant smile upon his lips.


	20. Jersey on my mind (Part 20)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for a pair of children's shoes size nine turns into something completely different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.I hope you will like the story.

The sun rises and slowly transforms the pitch black night into early morning, then into forenoon. Daryl observes how the quiet community, as if it had been in a coma overnight, slowly wakes up. He sees people come out of the houses, hears Carol calling out ‘breakfast’s ready’ inside the house and the clinking of forks, spoons and knives against plates. But he doesn’t move from his spot at the porch stair. 

Ever since he and Jersey handed over the watchtower to Eric and another Alexandrian that he haven’t bothered to put a name on and Mila went to sleep for a few hours, he’s been sitting here, sunken in thoughts.

It’s too much to process somehow. Everything he feels, everything he found out about her; it’s overwhelming not knowing what to do with all of these swirling… whatever it is. She’s like a goddamn hurricane. All hair and hell. Damn, she’s pretty, beautiful even. And that accent. She talks a lot. She’s pragmatic to the point of being indifferent. Maybe because she was raised like a goddamn robot by a psychopath. She’s hot tempered, impatient, stubborn… and holy fuck, Daryl digs it. All of her; the big heart, the kindness, the humor and the sarcasm. It’s like booze mixed with cherry coke. The way she looks at him… or is it just a creation of his own imagination? Is he a complete idiot for thinking that she looked at him in a special way when they sat there together, in the dark, sharing that bottle of vodka? Could it be- no! Obviously she doesn’t- he’s a fool. But the way he felt, throughout his entire body and soul, when their hands touched, he definitely felt something. But that might just be it, his own stupid delusion. When she told him she’d been engaged, and declared that whoever gave her the ring was dead, Daryl felt like the devil himself for feeling relieved, but also bad for feeling like that. 

The night has truly been peculiar, he thinks, while resting his gaze on a bird in a tree, trying to feed its squeaking nestlings. Parts of what Mila told him Daryl had recognized from his own childhood. He’d been beaten up many times by his old man, leaving deep scars that never faded. He’d been neglected and abused for most of his childhood, by everyone when it came down to it. But he was a boy. Not that it justified his father’s actions towards him, but Daryl could at least, and used to, fight back. He was a pretty good fighter at an early age and knew he had to aim for the kidneys. But Mila was a girl, an unwanted girl who had to face the shame and blame for not being born as the son her old man so badly wanted. He’d reminded her every single day of her shortcoming, and she had apologized, and that (and when she told about the physical abuse, because that’s what it was, even though she didn’t refer to it that way) had hit him hard. How she somehow, even though she clearly despised and distanced herself from his actions, could talk about him with something that sounded like affection, Daryl found astonishing. Like she desperately cling on to the good memories, the few she might have. Was it a perfect example of Stockholm Syndrome, or just pure madness? She’d lived in a lie for almost her entire life, he’d murdered people; how was it possible that she was so indifferent after what she’d been through? Or maybe she just managed to conceal it behind a thick wall of oppressed feelings. He could understand that more than well in a way. But on the other hand it seemed like she’d turned her life around; she had a kid who she’d managed to keep alive. Her story had made him feel secure, less odd about his own history that he’d tried so hard to oppress, to push back into the deepest darkest corner of his soul, never to reveal to any living soul. 

Daryl had never talked to anyone about his upbringing, in fact he’d never talked to anyone as he talked to Mila. Somehow she managed to get these things out of him, that he had previously buried deep inside himself, that he’d never in a million years thought he would tell anyone as he told her the other night. She treats him in a way he’s never been treated before. 

Daryl twitches when he feels a thug on his vest. He removes his chin from the stock of the crossbow and turns where he sits on the porch stairs. 

“Hey kiddo.”

Juri smiles and sits down on the stairs next to him. He’s dressed in dungarees and boots, has seemingly managed to dress himself this morning, but has failed to tie the shoelaces that dangles around his soles.

“That won’t do. Come here.” Daryl waves his hand and nods at the shoelaces that flutter in the wind. The boy obediently raises his foot, Daryl takes it and puts it to his knees and begins to lace the small boot. “Gotta tie ‘em up good, or they’ll fall off ya’ feet.” he says and ties the shoe steadily, but not too tight. He doesn’t want to be responsible for causing Jersey Jr. a broken foot.

Daryl ties the other shoes too, then they sit there next to each other, quiet. Every now and then the boy snails up at him curiously. When Daryl snails back, Juri looks away, giggling. He’s kinda funny, Daryl thinks to himself and smiles. Cheeky, a li’ rascal.

“Ya’ mum’s not up yet?” he asks. 

Juri shakes his head, then makes a snarling sound. 

“She snores?” Daryl grins. “Yeah, ‘bet she does, kiddo. Heard ya’ were a snorer too.” He gives of a grunt, like a pig and Juri bursts into a big, faint, silent laugh. “Ya’ wanna go for a walk?”

Juri nods eagerly. 

“Let’s go.” 

Daryl gets up, grabs Juri under his armpits and lifts him up and places him on the ground. They walk around the pond, a walk that normally doesn’t take half an hour, but since his companion is only 3 feet tall, the pace is below average. When they arrive back to the house, Mila’s standing on the porch, shielding her face from the sun with her hand. Daryl once again gets all warm throughout the body and his tongue starts to crawl back up toward his palate. No, dammit! Juri starts to run towards her when he sees her, with three flowers clenched in his hand, that he picked next to the pond. 

“For me!” Mila’s smile could light up the entire Safe-Zone if it would’ve been night, when he hands her the flowers. “Moya lyubov, thank you.” She looks up at Daryl. “Where are your flowers?”

“Didn’t pick any.”

“What a shame.” She stands up and looks at Juri. “You know what! Carol has been an angel, and made lunch for you, Romeo.”

Mila shoves Juri into the house, while the boy waves at Daryl from between her legs. 

“Slept well?” 

“Enough.” she answers easily. “I need to get out of here for a while. Gotta go find new shoes for Juri. What kind of mother lets her son walk around in heavy boots in this heat?” 

“Good luck with that.” Daryl scoffs. “Getting past those assholes unnoticed won’t be easy.” 

The sapphire eyes peers at him through the sun. 

“Wanna join then?” She asks boldly with a grin. “Show off those hunter skills. Trust me, it’s easier to find game meat than a pair of kids size nine’s.” 

Daryl snorts and looks around. It’s not an impossible mission, but foolish. On the other hand, he can’t just wander around in here. He’s convinced that she would leave on her own if he doesn’t follow, no matter how much he, or anyone else, opposed it. 

“Gear up, Jersey.” He therefore answers and nods a little. 

Mila smiles triumphantly, turns on her heel and enters the house. She returns minutes later, with the automatic rifle on her shoulder and a backpack, dressed in a worn, black leather jacket over the dark t-shirt.

“New jacket?”

“Not directly. I got it for my eighteenth birthday. Saw it in this store down in Ashbury Park and thought, ‘hey, I’d look so cool in that’, so Adam and Peter brought it to me.” She corrects her left boot with the other foot. “I love fun jackets! Fringes, embroideries- I’ll be buried in this one, if that’s the last thing I do.” Mila smiles. “Oh, and I told Carol we were going out.”

“What did she say?” Daryl asks, clenching his jaw. Some things are better left unsaid. Like sneaking off in the middle of what can be likened to a siege.

“Something like, have fun-” Mila replies and hurries down the porch. “And take it easy.”

They walk toward the wall, toward the place Daryl climbed to enter the Safe-Zone. Mila climbs onto the truck easily and soon they’re standing on the roof of the trailer, looking out over the landscape on the other side of the Alexandria walls.

“Head for the woods.” Daryl points. “The bike’s in there somewhere. Short run.”

Quickly and silently, they get down the trailer and start running towards the trees, into the woods. 

“Do you know where to go?” Daryl asks as they find the motorcycle in the same place he left it.

“I have a strategy.” Mila replies. “Houses with toys and swing sets outside usually have kids stuff inside too.”

“Fine.” Daryl gets the motorcycle up and leads it up the road. “Let’s go find some swing sets.”

He straddles the motorcycle and scoots forward, to give her room to sit behind him. Mila throws her leg over the body of the bike and sits down on the leather seat and wraps her arms around his waist. Daryl takes a deep breath, tries his best to maintain a normal heartbeat. 

”All right.” he coughs nervously. 

He warns the engine once again before he kicks off. He can feel all of the power in the machine throughout his entire body. Behind him, Mila squeezes his waist and makes a delighted cry as he increases the speed as he maneuvers the beast on the desolated road. 

“This is awesome!” Mila hollers into his ear.

A smile spreads on his lips and he speeds up, causing Mila to hug harder around his waist and laugh. They cruise around the nearby residential areas, scouting for children’s bikes in the driveways, basketball hoops, colorful slides and toys. Eventually, they find a street that seems to fill all the criteria. Daryl hits the brakes and the motorcycle stops next to a two storey house with a hoop and a climbing frame in the yard. Mila climbs off and takes her rifle, attaches the silencer over the barrel. 

“Okay, let’s find some shoes.” Daryl states. “Lead the way.”  
Briskly, Mila starts walking toward the door, rips it up and raises the AK in front of her and walks into the house. He follows, cautiously listening for hissing sounds and dragging feets. It’s clearly not her first rodeo. Mila immediately starts looking in wardrobes, in the laundry room and in cabinets. 

“Nope. Nothing.” she notes after a while. “Let’s continue.”

They leave the house and start walking down the street. Mila’s long hair blows effortlessly in the wind as they pass by abandoned houses, driveways and overgrown lawns. In the distance Daryl sees a lone, limping walker approach them in the street. He lifts the crossbow to his shoulder, aims and shoots. In the distance he sees it fall into a pile on the grund. 

“That house seems promising.” Mila points toward a house with what looks like a homemade skateboard ramp in the driveway. 

Daryl runs over to the walker, lying in a pile on the asphalt, to collect the arrow. When he turns, Mila has caught sight of a rotten creature, appearing from behind the molding ramp. With ease she lifts the rifle, aims and places a bullet in its head and it drops to the ground with a thud. With a crooked smile Daryl remembers what she said about the soup can. He then finds her inside the house, browsing the books in a bookshelf in the living room. 

“Children’s Books!” Mila holds up a book for him to see. Where the wild things are, Daryl reads from the cover. He’s never read it. On the other hand, his ma’ never read books for him and Merle. “There’s so many cute books here! Peter Rabbit, Paddington-” she grabs the books and puts them in a pile. 

Daryl rests on the back of the couch, watches her stacking books on a chair. He’s amazed by how she engages her entire heart and soul to make sure that the boy has everything he could ever wish for. What would it have been like growing up like that? 

With about ten children’s books stuffed in the backpack, Mila then continues through the house in the search of a new wardrobe for Juri, faintly humming. Daryl finds a weapon cabinet where the owner forgot a Glock and a few boxes of ammunition, and Mila finds a pair of Chuck Taylor’s in Juri’s size.

“Half a size too big, but his feet will grow.” She states and puts the shoes in the backpack.

If he thought they were done by now, Daryl was mistaken. They therefore proceed to the house next door.

“You notice something?” 

Daryl immediately turns all vigilant, looks around in search of hostility movements. Mila laughs a little. 

“What?” Daryl scoffs, mildly irritated, and lowers his guard. 

“We’re alone.” Mila says as they walk around a dense bush, once perfectly trimmed in a rounded shape, in front of the porch. “Like a little adventure. Pretty fun, right?” 

She feels the door handle and nods. Unlocked. She pushes the door open and it goes up with a creak. Mila quietly walks into the hall, Daryl follows, with a gut feeling that something will happen. And his guts don’t lie. All of a sudden Mila’s pushed to the carpet by a walker coming at them from the left, followed by its two companions. The first one attacks Mila and Daryl’s grabbed by a male, missing an eye. Mila swears loudly, a muffled bang is heard when she shoots the walker right in the face and tries to get up from the floor. Daryl tries to pull away from the one eyed bastard, that clings to his vest. The rotting mouth and disgusting fingers claws to his torso. 

”Watch it!”

With impressive force Mila grabs a hold of it by its shoulders, pulls it away from him and throws it into the opposite wall of the hallway. She takes her knife from her boot shaft and pushes it into its forehead. Daryl takes a hold of the last, remaining dead asshole and pushes an arrow deeply into its skull, forcing it down on the floor. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Ey, wha-”

Without another word, Mila lifts his shirt and searches his torso for wounds, or at least he thinks that’s what she does. Oh god, please don’t. Daryl gets intense chills of pleasure all through his body by her touch. Those soft, delicate fingers send shivers throughout his body in sheer delight. She withdraws, sighs in relief. 

”Though it bit you.” she says. 

“I’m fine.” Daryl replies, hardly meeting her gaze as he pulls the shirt down.

He tries to steady his breath, all while Mila still pants faintly. Their eyes meet, or are more like glued to each other. Daryl’s heart beats hard inside his ribcage, he can almost hear it like a drum inside his ears. Suddenly, before he’s able to say or do anything, Mila has thrown herself onto him, presses her lips against his in a kiss out of this world. It’s so sudden and so surprising that he can’t turn all flushed and angry, his usual defense mechanism in unfamiliar situations. But it’s also everything he’d ever dreamt it would be. Why would he withdraw? With her hands on each side of his face, her soft tongue finds its way in-between his lips into his mouth, exploring every inch of his mouth like a gold miner looking for nuggets. It’s mesmerizing, he’s never been kissed like this in his entire life. 

He cups her face with his hand, the one not holding on to the crossbow, feels the soft skin towards his palm. It soon finds its way to her lower back, as he presses her body against his as she begins to guide them away from the hallway massacre, with the three dead corpses, into the other room.  
Daryl briefly presses her up against a wall, making a framed picture fall to the floor. The rough, passionate kissing turns into a frenzy of hands and heavy panting. Daryl drops the crossbow to the floor and steers Mila towards the dining table. He pushes her towards the table, while their fingers eagerly search for buttons and zippers during heavy breathing and intense eye contact. 

He’s so excited, so frantically horny. Never before has he felt such a desire. He fumbles, all while Mila’s able to kick off one boot, push down her jeans and underwear, making them dangle around her leg and unbuckles his belt at the same time like a fucking magician. Daryl lets out a grunt as his palms run over her bare, soft thigh. He presses his forehead against hers and they kiss again, moaning into each other’s mouths. Mila’s chest heaves rapidly underneath the t-shirt as she unbuttons his jeans, pushes them over his hips, releases his pulsating cock and drags him closer. She caresses him, touches him to the point of almost no return. Daryl ends it by grabbing her buttocks in his hands, lifts her up onto the table. She spreads her legs, pants breathlessly as she pulls him in between. Daryl grunts as he lightly fondles her, she’s so fucking wet. For him! That’s the most fucking incredible part, well, one of thousands right now. There is no darn turning back now. Without breaking eye contact, almost drowning in those sapphire eyes, while inhaling her scent, the floral and everything that enchants him, Daryl enters her, making both of them exhale loudly. She tightens around him and it feels as if he will come right away. Jesus christ, I can’t hold it, he finds himself thinking as he feels a rush of pleasure spread through his body, it won’t go. He starts to grind his hips into her, causing her to moan loudly, to dig her fingers into the back of his vest, as she jerks her hips forward against him. He lets out a low growl and starts to pound into her, making the table squeak, holding her in place while he with the other hand softly grabs the hair on the back of her head, not breaking their eye contact; all while a feverish heat runs through his body. 

Dear god he doesn’t want it to end, but he can feel himself edging as her body clenches around him, and he realizes that it’s more than close. He can feel it, her entire body screams that she’s on the edge too. She lifts her head to the ceiling, as she reaches climax and the surge of warmth from her orgasm surrounds him. Daryl moans loudly into her neck, feels his entire body tremble as he digs his hips into her, as deep as he possibly can, exploding inside of her.

They gasp for air, as if there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room, bodies trembling, but they don’t break eye contact. Something warm runs down his cramping thigh, bolting with his runaway pulse.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Daryl’s whimpers, his voice breaks. He swallows, but doesn’t move, just keeps holding on to Mila’s body like a castaway clinging to a piece of board. “I’m sorry-” 

“I’m not.” Mila pants with her fingers entangled into the back of his head, the other hand grasping the back of the vest. “I’m not.”

They remain like that for a few seconds; silent, trying to get a grip of the whole situation and what just happened, how amazing it was. Daryl lowers his eyes, for the first time in what feels like forever and with a soft movement he wipes away the warmth from her inner thigh with his thumb. He feels high on adrenaline, feverish, standing there with one hand under her left thigh and the other in a firm grip round her buttocks, welded together. 

“I want ya’.” Daryl manages to utter between the heavy breaths, looking back at her. “Ya’ asked me what I want. I want ya’.”

Mila caresses his face with the other hand, runs it softly over his lips. 

“I want you too.” She replies. Daryl’s uncertain, did she actually say that? The faint smile he gets, between the panting breaths, somehow says it all. ”You heard me, Dixon.”


	21. Jersey on my mind (Part 21)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the heated encounter in the abandoned house Mila and Daryl return to Alexandria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.I hope you will like the story.

On unsteady, still shaky legs Mila gets off the warm motorcycle seat and finds foothold against the asphalt. Discreetly she adjusts the slightly wet crotch area on the jeans, while Daryl leads the heavy motorcycle down the ditch, off road and out of sight for potential thieves. Thankfully her jeans are washed out black, making the warm, wet stain less noticeable. She’s still a bit hazy in the head. What the hell just happened? The fuck of a lifetime, that’s what’s happened! Mila can’t put it any other way. What a fucking orgasm! The thought of it almost makes her knees turn into jelly. 

As soon as they reached climax, Mila on top of a table with Daryl standing between her legs, it felt like she’d just been taking some psychedelic drug, as if her mind was going bananas. Her body felt feverish, her legs trembled as if she’d just run a marathon and her ‘sweet-spot’ pounded to the frantic beat of her heart. The archer in front of her, with one hand in a firm grip around her rear end, seemed to feel the same, trying his best to get a grip of the whole situation and what just happened, and in Mila’s case at least, how amazing it was! The fact that something warm ran down Mila’s inner thigh at the same time didn’t even bother her. It was too late to think about protection anyway at that stage. Hadn’t she read somewhere that it was all ‘good to go’ if it happened on top of a sturdy table, or was that just wishful horny thinking? Probably. The idea of whether a furniture functioned as a fullworthy contraceptive disappeared from Mila’s head when Daryl opened his mouth and, for the first time since they met outside the food store and pointed weapons at each other, expressed something from his heart, between heavy breathing. 

Mila follows Daryl into the woods, watches as the broad shouldered man leans the motorcycle against a tree and covers it with branches. The fresh memory of the firm grip around her thigh, his fingers grasping her hair and necks and the intense kissing, passes through her head, causing a pleasant shiver to run throughout Mila’s body. The thought of how it felt when he penetrated her, how he almost filled her all the way up her throat with his big- 

“Hey?”

Mila returns, almost drowsy, to the present and looks at Daryl, who’s seemingly back to his usual self.

“Hm?” She utters. “You done?” 

“I’ll get it later.” Daryl replies and nods his head into the woods. “Let’s get back.”  
He turns and starts walking. Mila strides up next to him. The involuntary celibacy she’s found herself in after Jim’s death has made her almost violently horny without knowing it. Her whole psyche and physique is disrupted; is this what the walkers feel like all the time? Bozhe moy, the silent archer has awakened a monster inside of her, a monster that’s been repressed by grief and alcohol for the last couple of months. Nothing strange about it. But the fact that she shagged him on top of a table in an abandoned house, during a full blown apocalypse without protection was evidence enough that the ‘monster’, otherwise known as Mila, was back in business. 

“What ya’ said-” Daryl begins, but he hesitates. “I just-” once again he pauses. “Fuck-” Mila puts her hand on his arm, forces him to break and stop. “I mean, ya don’t have to-” his eyes flicker, he looks iffy and on the verge to implode. 

She needs to do something, needs to save him from having an emotional meltdown, probably one of few he’s ever had in his life. Mila interrupts him by pressing her lips against his, cupping his face, feeling the stubble brush up against the inside of her palms. She wants him, she wants him more than anything. She’s done grieving. When the world and life itself can end at any moment, but god forbid it would, there’s no time to mourn forever, and lately, Mila has felt feelings beyond abrasive grief and despair in her heart, that she has to sedate with lethal doses of alcohol. She’s been alive, not just survived, even though she was close to dying there for a while. That someone could wake up in the morning and not feel pure anxiety about having the ability to feel emotions, what a feeling! The reason that she no longer wakes up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, after once again dreaming that she had to kill Jim, stands in front of her in the leafy woods, surrounded by greenery with a crossbow in his hand, completely unaware of his effect on her. 

Mila softly tears herself from him.

“You heard me before.” She says steadily.

”Wasn’t really- ” 

Daryl interrupts himself when the sound of voices in the distance bounce against the beeches around them. Like a shepherd who has weathered a squirrel, Daryl tips his ears and looks in the direction of Alexandria, tightening his grip around the crossbow. Mila’s brain shifts to battle ready in a second. She starts running toward the community before Daryl can say a word. Has the walkers managed to climb the wall, or worse? Daryl grabs her arm and tails her in just as they reach the edge of the greenery, pulls her in behind a tree. With her back against the rough surface and her heart pounding, Mila looks out from behind it. She sighs deeply, relieved, by the sight of the intact walls surrounding Alexandria. But in the air, she catches sight of Spencer. He’s dangling in a rope between one of the watchtowers and the roof of the burned church, with a grappling hook. 

“What the-”

Below Spencer, on the ground, the walkers hungrily gropes for his sprawling feet, like children groping for the candy in a pinata. The only thing that sets them apart is the lack of long sticks and colorful party hats. Rick screams at Spencer from the watchtower to ‘get his ass back over there’. The rope shakes by Spencer’s movements. 

“He’s gonna fall.” Daryl exhales. 

The next moment they see Spencer fall to the ground, into the hungry herd. Mila swears a few well-chosen, nasty words in her native language and steps out from behind the tree, with the AK lifted in front of her, closely followed by Daryl with the crossbow raised. 

“Spence, come on!” Rick shouts up in the watchtower, before he catches sight of her and Daryl, emerging from the trees. “Get him outta there!” he calls in their directions. “I’ll pull you up!”

“We’re on it!” Daryl shouts back as he sends an arrow into the head of a walker, that tries to close its jaws around Spencers kicking legs, while he desperately tries to get up from the ground. 

Under cover of heavy gunfire from Tara, hanging over the edge of the wall, and bare knuckles and arrows from Daryl, Mila shoves herself through the stinkin’ herd. She grabs Spencer in the back of the shirt and thugs at it as if he was a mischievous dog, forcing him to stumble over to the wall, where she presses herself and him up against the cold sheet. 

“Get up there, mudak!” Mila starts shooting walkers approaching with open jaws. In the corner of her eye she glares at Spencer, what a saphead. “Davay, davay!” She shouts, or more like barks, at him. 

While Rick, with the help of Tobin, pulls Spencer up with the help of the rope and back to safety in Alexandria, Daryl reaches the wall. He leans up against the corrugated sheet next to her and gives Spencer a hefty push, causing him to fly handlessly, the last bit over the wall. He lands with a thud on the other side. 

“Fuckin’ moron.” he mutters and looks down at her. “Ya’ next.” 

“I’ll manage on my own.” She grabs a firm hold on the rope that dangles over the edge of the wall. Mila hangs the rifle’s shoulder strap over her shoulder, grabs the rope and starts to climb, swearing and grunting by the not yet healed, sore wound, causing her core muscles to pound angrily. “Fucking, shitty, fuck fuck fuck!”

She crawls over the edge of the wall, with some help from Rick, while Daryl grabs the rope on the other side. While Rick screams something she can’t comprehend to Tara at the other tower, Mila looks at Spencer. Daryl gets over the edge of the wall at the same time as Rick gets a middle finger from Tara, and instead turns to Spencer.

“The hell’s the matter with ya’?!” Daryl sputters. 

Spencer pants, doesn’t reply at first, just wiggles his feet. He’s missing a shoe. 

“Lost the damn shoe. Crap.”

Without a word and with a head pounding with rage, Mila squats and grabs a hold of Spencer’s other foot. She tears the shoe from it and, without a word, throws it with all her power in a wide angle over the wall. With lips pressed to a narrow line, Mila looks at Spencer, whose face has transformed into a sheepish expression. 

“There. Now you lost both.” Mila sputters with a grunt as she stands up. “Mudak!”

She climbs down the ladder, while Rick takes over the scolding-torch and continues to yell at the now shoeless young man. Down on solid ground, Mila exhales and combs her windswept hair out of her flushing face, while Spencer attempts to explain his stupid decision to dangle over the herd like a bait. People pass her along the road and in the field behind the solar panels a group has gathered around Rosita with machetes. 

“I was trying to help.” Spencer pleads somewhere over her head. 

“That’s not helping.” Mila cries back towards the watchtower. “That’s just dumb!” 

The men up in the tower must’ve heard her, couldn’t have avoided hearing, but she receives no response. Rick just keeps barking like an angry pitbull at the poor fool. Daryl climbs down and joins her on the ground. 

“Idiot.” He wipes one of the arrows against his trouser leg. “Y’alright?”

“I would have easily made that climb.” Mila says, in an attempt to light up the mood. “Just saying.”

Daryl lets out a faint chuckle through his nostrils. Behind them, the others climb down from the tower and join them on the ground. Spencer hurries away, in his dirty socks, squeezing the rifle in his hands, followed by Tobin, muttering about ‘you stupid kids will be the death of me’. Rick looks anything but happy, peering at them through squinting eyes in the sunlight. 

“What the hell was that?” the sheriff points at the wall, too angry or upset to speak. For what, Mila wonders. No one got hurt. Spencer lost his shoes but that’s a piss in Mississippi in comparison to what could’ve happened if Rick, Tobin and Tara wasn’t there, and she and Daryl didn’t arrive just on time to save Spencer’s ass. “Where the fuck’ve you been?” Rick scoffs at the two of them. 

Mila looks at Daryl. He’s just as calm, or rather untouched, as usual. But he says nothing. What would he say? The truth? It is alluring, but not appropriate right now. Mila’s sure Daryl would never, ever, tell such a thing to anyone. Rick, on the other hand, seems to want to scold them as well, as he did with Spencer. Mila knows she should keep quiet, but-

“Are you angry?” 

The former sheriff is close to having a seizure at her cocky remark. 

“Are you kidding me?” Rick yells at her, making poor Eugene, standing over at Rosita’s ‘how to handle a machete’-school, to drop his machete into the grass as if it was a big spider. Rick points his index finger at Mila and Daryl. “You two left without a word to anyone- People are still missing. Our people! People here are scared, there’s one of those goddamn Wolf locked up in here because Morgan refuses to get blood on his hands… And Spence- I have every right to be mad!”

Rick’s eyes are furious, but he meets her gaze steadfastly. Mila feels a hand, Daryls, on her upper arm; an attempt to prevent her from, maybe, jump Rick. 

“Fine.” Mila sputters. “But don’t blame Morgan’s hippy dippy shit on me, or any of us. He’s his own damn responsibility. Not mine. If it was up to me, I’d neuter that… that-” She points towards the houses, where Morgan has hid the Wolf-man responsible for her wounds. “That asshole! I’m still tempted, believe me.” 

The stern sheriff puts his hands to his hips. Sweat trickles down his forehead. The white t-shirt is stained with dirt and patches of sweat. It looks like he’s had a rough day. But she won’t let him spoil her day, which has been quite magnificent so far. 

Rick looks at her, as to say; ‘please, help me here, what am I gonna do with Morgan?’As if Mila knew? She doesn’t understand Morgan’s philosophy either and doesn’t agree with it at all. But she’s also crazy, genetically, obviously. Not that Rick knows about it.

“He thinks he can change that… man.” Rick bites his lower lip.

“And he’s a fool for thinking so, I agree.” Mila clenches her jaw. “That man is unsaveable, whatever Morgan believes. But Morgan’s our friend. The dumbest of ‘em all in this case, but still-”

Rick stays deadpan, cop-faced. He probably counts ‘one, two, three’ inside his head, to hopefully have a calmer mind when he comes to ‘ten’. 

“You didn’t see the others?” He asks instead.

“They’re not back?” Daryl looks at his friend in disbelief. “None of ‘em?”

Rick shakes his head. 

“Should be by now.” He shifts his weight to the other leg. “Where’ve you been anyway?”

“O-out.” Mila replies, stuttering.

“Doing what?” 

The clear blue eyes shift from her to Daryl, back to her, before setting on Daryl. On the inside, Mila giggles unabashedly. If he only knew. Sure, they left Alexandria to look for a pair of kid’s size nine sneakers for Juri, but things escalated from there, to say the least. Rick just has to look at Daryl to be able to put two and two together surprisingly fast. The two men know each other more than well by now, every little thing. Rick’s eyebrows rise slightly in his sweaty forehead and the angry facial expression disappears in a twinkle, as if he somehow, not entirely, can guess what happened on their small excursion. But he doesn’t say anything. In the corner of her eye, Daryl doesn’t seem to know exactly where to look, finally deciding to try and meet Rick’s ever so slightly amused face. The faint smirk, as in disbelief, is enough to get Daryl, who’s back to his grumpy self, going. 

”What?” The big archer replies, somewhere between irritated and uncomfortable.

”Nothing.” Rick shakes his head slightly. “Nothing. Glad you’re back.” Rick turns around on the spot and starts walking away from them. “Safe.” 

Mila turns her head to Daryl, meets his eyes beneath the brown hair. She nudges her head to the side, as to ask him to walk with her. Telepathy or not; they begin to move in a slow pace towards the solar panels. The sun warms the back of her head. Things are calm. But she notices Daryl is sunken in thoughts. She puts her hand on his arm, feels the heat his body gives off throughout her entire body. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“Just-” He looks down on her hand. “Now what?”

“Don’t worry. They’ll be back.” Mila caresses him over the scruffy cheek, runs her hand down his muscular chest, encased in dark, worn shirt fabric and the biker vest, crowned by a pair of angel wings on the back. “I’m sure they’re-”

“No.” Daryl interrupts and the blue eyes almost devour her. “Just… “ He grasps for words. “This.” He says, looking down at her lips, then letting his eyes go back up to hers. ”Us.”

Everything that happens after ‘us’, happens as in slow motion. A crackling sound, like when loggers cut down trees, rumbles over the area and drowns the sound of birds, laughter and everything else around them. The cracking sound forces Mila to turn her head to the right, just in time to see the burnt church tower raging down over the wall against them.


	22. Jersey on my mind (Part 22)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The panic is a fact as the walkers pour into the Safe-Zone and forces its inhabitants to flee headlong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.I hope you will like the story.

Daryl grabs a hold of Mila’s wrist as people start shouting at each other to flee, running in all directions to find somewhere to put themselves to safety. He drags her along, tears her down with him into the tall grass and covers both of their heads with his arms, just as the badly damaged tower topples onto the wall surrounding Alexandria, crashing through it like a ship breaking a wave. The sound is deafening, drowns out all shouting and every ‘watch out’ and makes him pull Mila closer in underneath his body, as the building hits the ground and is smashed to pieces, creating a shiver through the ground underneath them. Debris and pieces of shattered wooden boards rains like hail over the area, followed by a thick cloud of dust. 

His heart beats like a freight train. Against his arm, the one that’s tightly wrapped around Mila, he can feel her heart pound just as frantically as his inside her chest. They’re safe, alive. Dusty, sprinkled with debris, but unharmed. But the danger is far from over. Daryl rises from the ground and helps Mila up on her feet. Coughing and squinting, they look around the foggy dust cloud. He tries to orientate himself, to figure out how big the damage is. The answer to his question is served to him just as the thought is created inside his head. From behind the big pile of rubble, which just seconds ago was the church tower, and the now shattered wall, he sees something moving in the thick cloud. Something that’s not supposed to be on this side of the wall. But the wall is down and the patient horde that’s been standing on the other side of it for days, night and day, is flooding into the Safe-Zone, eager for something to eat. Somewhere not too far away in the cloud, he hears Rick shout:

“Everyone, get back! Get into your houses, go!”

“Rick!”

“Daryl?” Rick responds, followed by gunshots. “Get people inside!” 

In the corner of his eye, Daryl sees Mila, covered in dust and scrapes of white paint from the church facade, lifting her rifle in the same direction he’s looking, and fires off a burst of bullets into the approaching horde. Daryl raises his crossbow at the newcomers, shoots an arrow into the forehead of a dead woman on the left flank, but there are too many for them to handle on their own. They have to hide, quickly. 

”There’s too many!” Daryl shouts at Mila, still shooting her rifle at the walkers, and starts to back away. ”C’mon!”

“I have to find Carol!” Mila hollers and throws the rifle strap over her shoulder. “She has Juri!”

“We gotta get people inside.”

“I need to get Juri!” Mila’s voice is stern, determined. “Get people off the streets, I’ll be fine.” 

Through the deteriorating cloud, Daryl sees Rick half-carrying, half-dragging Deanna over the street in the opposite direction, closely followed by Carl, Gabriel and Ron, and a tail of hungry walkers. He turns just in time to see Mila bolting down the street in the opposite direction, towards the townhouse and the armory, while shouting at people, running down the street, to hide. With one last glance over his shoulder, towards the approaching herd swarming through the hole in the wall, he runs after her. She doesn’t give a crap about anyone else but Juri right now. Outside the armory, their path crosses with Rosita and Tara. 

“Where’s Carol?” Mila brakes in front of them. “Where is she? She has Juri!”

“Saw her with Morgan earlier.” Rosita answers as she inserts a new magazine into her gun. The brown eyes turn concerned at the sight of Mila. “Juri wasn’t with her.”

“I think she left him and Judith with Jessie.” Tara replies out of breath.

Without a word Mila runs off. 

“Get people inside!” Daryl instructs Rosita, who nods, before he runs after Mila. 

He gets to act as eyes and ears for both of them, while Mila’s entire attention is locked on Jessie’s house and Juri. They bump into Rick and the others, as well as Michonne, in the street outside the two story. The front door flies open and Jessie bursts out on the porch, completely terrified. Mila wastes no time.

“You have Juri?” Mila shouts as the blonde woman hurries down the stairs to help the wounded Deanna inside the house. “Where’s Juri!”

Daryl immediately sees, judging by Jessie’s facial expression, that she doesn’t have the boy inside the house with her. The invisible, yet terrible, leather belt around Daryl’s chest returns, and is tightened, when Jessie shakes her head at him and Mila, making the blonde hair dance around her face.

“H-he’s at the pond!” she stutters in reply, close to panicking. “Picking flowers. I didn’t- I just-” 

No. How could she know that something like this would happen? Without giving Jessie a response, Mila turns and starts sprinting in the opposite direction, towards the pond and the walkers, without hesitating. Panic wells up inside Daryl as he runs for all he’s worth after the young woman, who is about to make a frontal collision with the wall of walkers, to find Juri. While Daryl lifts the crossbow, ready to put an arrow in whatever son of a bitch that tries to attack ‘em, Mila wraps her hands around the barrel of her AK74, lifts it over her left shoulder, before sending it off with impressive speed and hitting an approaching walker right in the sweet spot, bringing it to the ground, before she continues to run. It’s like a morbid version of baseball. Daryl attacks as well, using both arrows, fists and knuckles, while searching frantically for the blonde boy over the walker’s heads. Feverishly he scans the pond for ripples on the water, what if he’s fallen into the pond? But it’s as calm as ever. 

”Juri!” Mila shouts, while looking to the right and left, while warding off the nearest walker with her foot, before continuing towards the pond. “Juri!” 

At first Daryl doesn’t see anything else than the walkers that roam around the area, until he spots something bright over some dense green bushes, next to the same small patch of wildflowers he and the boy found during their walk earlier in the day. Of course! 

“I see him!” Daryl shouts at Mila, before sending his knuckles into the head of a walker, forcing it to the ground where he stomps it to death. 

At his exclamation, Mila loses focus for a few seconds. But that’s enough for her to turn from completely lethal to vulnerable. A withering male with greyish skin hanging in rags around his body, crashes into her and Mila falls to the ground. The rickety, male body lands on top of her and the hands try desperately to find something to get a grip around and bring to its mouth. A flush of rage and fear runs throughout his veins and Daryl is about to get over to her, to rip the dead bastard from her and end him off. 

“I’ll handle it. Get Juri!” Mila roars from underneath her attacker while holding the bloodthirsty man’s jaws on an arm’s length with one hand. It looks like she’s on the verge of exploding any minute. “Go!”

Had it been someone else, Daryl had left ‘em to handle the situation; on their own; there’s a kid in distress goddammit! But Mila’s not just anyone. Not anymore. They’re past that stage now, no matter how well she can handle the situation on her own. Daryl holds his breath, as to not lose his composure completely, as he runs towards the struggling pile of limbs that is Mila and the walker on the ground, which both attract more walkers. His trustworthy Busse knife goes into the ripe cranium like if it was made of room tempered butter.

“Don’t forget the knife, Jersey!” Daryl instructs the stark mad woman, as the male walker lands on top of her, before he starts running towards the pond and the bush, where he just saw the blond mane through the foliage.

On the way there, he manages to parry, alternatively knock down about ten walking ragdolls, before Mila has managed to get up on her feet again and covers him with gunfire. Once he finally reaches the bush, at the same time as he sends off two well aimed arrows at two walkers that’s not more than a few meters away, Daryl crouches underneath the branches. 

“Gotta go kiddo.”

Daryl grabs a hold of the boy sitting on the ground, clenching a small bouquet of wild daisies in his right hand. Juri clings to his neck tightly, squeezes it, and Daryl climbs out of the foliage with the boy in his arms. The realization of how many walkers that have entered Alexandria strikes Daryl when he finds himself surrounded by a whole army of ‘em. Just as he’s risen from the ground, one of ‘em decides to attack, but the boy he’s holding is observant, and the light thug at his vest is enough for Daryl to know exactly what Juri means. He raises the crossbow, turns on the spot and shoots the walker point blank. Juri looks around, the blue eyes flicker rapidly and for the first time he seems genuinely worried, and the grip around Daryl’s neck tightens even more. 

“I gotcha, kiddo.” Daryl hushes, holding the crossbow out in front of him. “Gotcha…”

But they’re not completely alone. If a cub’s threatened, the she-wolf isn’t far away, and she shows no mercy. Mila makes her way through the closing crowd as if she was a tank. The blue eyes, which he has seen sparkle like the clearest, brightest night sky, and only hours ago seemed to burn like the inner part of a flame, appears almost black. She shouts something in Russian and Juri, obediently, covers his eyes with his hands and presses his small face into Daryl’s chest, before she starts mowing down the walkers surrounding them with the rifle, creating a path for Daryl to get through to her. As soon as he gets through to the other side of the crowd closing in on ‘em, he hands Juri over to Mila and takes over the task of covering fire, as they start to run back towards the houses. Apart from themselves and the walkers, the streets of Alexandria are completely empty. Daryl can only hope that most residents have managed to put themselves to safety inside. A hungry cluster of walkers has barricaded themselves outside Jessie’s house, but the houses next to it, belonging to them, seem to have been left untouched for now. Although Mila carries both Juri, her rifle and her backpack, filled with shoes and children’s books, she manages to keep up the pace. With the crossbow raised in front of him, ready for anything, Daryl manages to get all three of them safely to the house, up the porch. They crash into the house and he slams the door shut, turns all the locks and grabs the heavy sideboard standing on the right wall and pushes it in front of the door like a door stop, making a table lamp fall to the floor with a crash. Both he and Mila pants breathlessly where they stand in the hallway, listening to the dragging, clumsy footsteps on the porch. 

“Upstairs.” Daryl whispers in a breath. “Get upstairs.”

Mila meets his gaze, as to say ‘yeah, all of us’, before she kicks off her shoes, crouches and takes them in her hand, to make as little noise as possible when she hurries up the stairs, with Juri on the arm. Daryl remains in the hallway, staring at the barricaded front door and struggling to figure out what the hell he’s going to do. They hadn’t planned for something like this to happen. There’s no such thing as a plan A, B, or C for this scenario. And here they are, scattered out in hiding over the Safe-Zone, with no chance of contacting each other. He knows Rick and some of them are at Jessie’s house. But what about the others? Maybe it’s because it’s a crisis situation, he has always handled them quite well; but he gets an idea. Was this how Einstein, or whatever that old farts name was, felt? Carefully, as if he had been teleported to the forest and just spotted a deer, Daryl moves silently out into the living room, avoiding the windows, like a shadow. The walkie talkie lies on the coffee table where he left it the night before. There’s a slight chance, about fifty-fifty, that Rick wears his. And if Rick doesn’t answer, someone else might. Daryl never had time to say anything about it earlier, but he saw them clear as day; the balloons. It felt like a ton of bricks fell from his heart at the sight of the cluster of green rubber in contrast to the blue sky, but honestly, most of his focus was directed at Mila and the ‘us’-speech he never got to finish. One, or some, of their own had returned and was out there, on the other side of that wall.


	23. Jersey on my mind (Part 23)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mila, Juri and Daryl barricade themselves in the house and tries to figure out what to do next; figure a great escape plane, lie low (for how long?) or fight for their lives?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.I hope you will like the story.

Out of breath and with her hair hanging in front of her face like a tousled curtain, Mila puts Juri down on the bed before dropping down on her knees in front of him. She pulls him close, forehead to forehead and clenches her jaw, pants like a frantic bull through her nostrils, but remains silent, to prevent herself from crying. Her son’s big blue eyes are widened, from excitement rather than fear. He twinkles and reaches her the small bouquet of daisies. They look a bit ravaged, but the tiniest Casanova in the world, her mini me, knows exactly how to charm her to peace. Damn him! 

Mila sighs, melts in front of the boy as she takes the flowers and puts them down, gently, on the bed, next to him. 

”You little…You make me crazy!” Mila growls like a bulldog, in an attempt to sound authoritarian. Well, it’s useless. She’s a lousy ‘angry parent’. Instead, she pulls Juri into a tight hug and digs her face into his soft, blonde mane, like a drug addict would dig his nose down a big pile of heroine. ”I get wrinkles and gray hair from worrying, moya lyubov! I don’t want either of them just yet.” 

Juri twists out of her tight grip and points towards the window, mimes ‘monsters’ and forms his small hands into claws in front of him. No wonder, Mila thinks. He must have been bloody terrified when the wall breached and the walkers poured into Alexandria, and she wasn’t there. 

But she’s proud of him. He hid and waited for her to come and get him, just like Mila taught him to. Just like every time she took him with her to scavenge an abandoned department store, back when there were just the two of them after Jim died. 

Juri hid behind the service counters with his walkman while Mila fended off walkers. A fair division of labor. Before she came back to get Juri, sitting curled up behind the service counter listening to “Sherry Darling”, ”Crocodile Rock” or ”Motorcycle Mama”, or anything else on those mixtapes, Mila used to take a stroll past the wine aisles to intoxicate herself just a tiny bit with the help of a bottle of cheap wine, that tasted like cork most of the times. A kind of unrestrained self-medication, before Mila limited her secret, unhealthy, but damn relaxing, drinking habit to after Juri had fallen asleep in the car. After a couple of mouthfuls of some disgraceful $6 Cabernet Sauvignon, she picked up Juri and they walked around the store without any disturbance. It became a habit, like going to the store to shop just like before the outbreak, though completely alone and she didn’t have to pay for any-fuckin-thing!

Behind her, Mila hears cautious, but quick boots steps coming up the stairs. 

“They’ve surrounded the front of the house.” Daryl says as he walks into the bedroom, over to the window, where he peeks out on the street. “One of ours is back.”

“What?” Mila looks at him in disbelief. “How- how do you know? Who is it?”

“Don’t know.” Daryl nods out of the window. “Saw ‘em balloons we used leading the herd away.” 

Daryl withdraws from the window and walks over to her and Juri. He sits down next to her on the floor, leans his winged back against the mattress and lets out a deep breath. 

“What a day.” Mila meets Daryl’s eyes. 

Instead of answering her, they start to chuckle.

“I’m exhausted.” 

They start to laugh, sitting there next to each other on the bedroom floor. Her heart rate has dropped, she’s stained with blood and what she thinks are pieces of rotten human bodies and she’s dripping with sweat and dirt. She can’t determine if her hair is tangled due to the drying blood or the wrestling match she had with the rotting, yet very much alive, male corpse before. Still chuckling, Mila twists her long hair around her left hand, finds a hair tie on the wrist and twists it twice around the tail of hair. 

“Ya’ did good out there, kiddo.” Daryl looks over his shoulder at Juri, lying on his stomach on top of the bed, and raises a clenched fist. 

Juri closes his small hand into a fist, then lightly taps it into Daryl’s. The small gesture warms Mila’s heart deerly, but this isn’t the right time to be squeamish. Damn it! This seemed to turn into a really good day there for a while. Well, that changed in an instant. 

“Whom do you think is out there?” Once again Mila meets Daryl’s eyes underneath the bangs. “What do we do now?”

In her field of vision, Daryl holds something up for her to see. The walkie talkie.

“Thought I’d try to radio Rick. Or anyone really.” He presses the button. “Rick?” No answer. Daryl repeats the procedure. Once, twice, but Rick doesn’t reply. No one does. He clenches his jaw and lowers the radio to his lap. “Son of a-”

“Ey!” Mila buffs him on the side of the arm. “Language.”

They turn silent. Juri climbs up to the pillows, picks out his walkman, puts the headphones over his head and disappears into his own, more pleasant world. About three minutes later he’s asleep, faintly snoring. The room is calm and quiet, except for the repeated thumps from the porch, that finds its way through the windows, where the walkers stumble around, banging into each other. She looks at Daryl. They have no idea about the others. Are they alive and well? No idea about who sent out the balloons. Is it Abraham and Sasha, or Glenn, or anyone else? 

Despite all this, Mila’s mind is calm, her pulse is controlled. She’s not alone, not anymore. She hasn’t been alone for several weeks when she comes to think of it. Daryl has been there for her, like a reassuring, warm blanket that has provided Mila with an inner peace she hasn’t felt for a long time, but which she has missed something awful. She never thought she would feel this way again. Despite the fact that there’s a horde of bloodthirsty walkers on the porch, keeping them trapped in the house, Mila’s not afraid. They got this, she and Daryl. 

Mila turns her head to the right, looks at Daryl, who looks back at her, slightly confused. 

”What?” 

”Nothing. I’m just… very happy you’re here.” She intertwines her fingers with Daryl’s. 

Like a shy boy, Mila has seen Juri do so when he gets embarrassed or blushes, Daryl looks down at his lap. 

“About this- what I said before, us.” he says. “Us-” It’s as if saying the ‘us’-part out loud makes it all clear to him, how he actually feels. 

Mila knows, well, she probably knew before he did, or at least admitted it to herself before Daryl did. 

”I’ve never done this before. Never felt like this for anyone.” Daryl emphasizes every word, like he’s never been honest with his feelings, towards himself or anyone else for that matter, in his life. “I’ve never had a girl- ya’ know-” he strong cheekbones flushes in a pale shade of red and he grasps for words as if he was grasping for a needle in a haystack. “Whatever.”

”No one asked you to be.” Mila caresses his cheek with her left hand. ”That’s the beauty of it. Day by day, if that’s what you want.”

“Nah, I don’t.” Daryl shakes his head, the blue eyes are fixed on her. “Ya’ asked me what I wanted, ya’ remember? That night-” He pauses. “I want ya’. Always. Every day.”

Mila leans in, softly places her lips against his, kissing him. At first he seems to hesitate, being in the presence of Juri, but when realizing Juri’s deep asleep to the sound of music, Daryl seems to melt at the kiss. Tentatively, very gently, he spreads her lips with his tongue, letting it swirl around her mouth tenderly. It’s gentle, emotional even. 

Both of them jump on the floor as the radio starts to scrape loudly on the floor between her and Daryl. He grabs the walkie talkie and presses the button.

“Rick? Rick?” Daryl repeats close to the speaker.

“Daryl?” A scrapy voice replies, a voice both of them recognizes more than well. 

“Abraham?” Mila asks. 

A chuckle crackles through the raspy speaker.

“Hah, I’ll be damned! Jersey girl! Good to hear from ya’.”

“Y’all right?” Daryl replies. 

“Had a bit of a bumpy ride back here, but we’re fine, both of us. I’ll tell ya’ about it later. I’m more concerned about you guys. Y'all surrounded by dead bastards!”

“Yeah it’s a bit crowded.” Daryl says and gives her a crooked smile. 

“Crowded?”

“Walls went down.” Daryl explains. “We’re overrun.”

“Fucking shit.” Abraham replies. “We’re stuck about two kilometers from ya’. Might need some help to get through.”

The streets are probably sprinkled with walkers, Mila thinks to herself. She looks at Daryl.

“Where are ya’?” Daryl asks, in response to Mila’s gaze. 

“Well, all I can see is a shit ton of walkers.” Abraham says, in an attempt to be cheerful and slappy. “But we might be at the intersection at the fire station, not far away.”

“I’ll meet ya’ there.” Daryl replies, before the radio goes silent. 

They look at each other, know what needs to be done.

“How are you going to get out?” Mila asks.

“I’ll climb the wall on this side.” Daryl stands up from the floor and the rug and reaches for the crossbow. “I’ll come get ya’.”

“Don’t need to.” Mila replies snappy and gets up from the floor as well. “We’ll be okay.” 

Daryl blushes.

“Sorry. I-” He pauses and walks up to her. “I know. Just, don’t do anything stupid.”

Mila scoffs a little. 

“I won’t, because I’ve never done anything stupid.”

The man opposite her tightens his jaw, as if to prevent himself from pointing out that he probably does not agree with her on that. But he says nothing. Instead, he controls the magazine in the gun, adjusting the grip around the crossbow.

“Gotta go.” Daryl says, before leaving the bedroom and carefully making his way down the stairs.


	24. Jersey on my mind (Part 24)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mila’s forced to make decisions for herself and Juri, and also prove to herself and everyone else that she can do anything, including some damn risky business...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.I hope you will like the story.

Through the next door bedroom window, Mila observes as Daryl makes his way over the wall, agile like a cat, without being detected by the drooling crowd, whose full attention is locked on the houses. With impressive flexibility the tall muscle pack straddles the wall and disappears out of her sight. We can’t stay here, Mila thinks and lets her gaze run past the curtain and over the street, sprinkled with walkers. They have to go somewhere, be with the others. How that’s gonna happen is another issue. They’re trapped inside the house. To open the front door at this time, especially since the walkers don’t know they’re in there, would be incredibly foolish. 

Mila walks back to the bedroom, with her brain buzzing with activity, in an attempt to come up with an escape plan which does not involve risking her and her mini me’s lives. Juri lies on his belly on the bed, tapping his fingers against the surface of the walkman, when Mila enters the room. He looks up at her, the round, blue eyes reads her like a CAT scan. The small hands form a pattern of signs, asking her where Daryl went. 

“He’ll get help. We’re on our own now, Malysh.” Mila sighs and pulls the long, tangled hair out of her face, in an attempt to clear her mind. She’s in charge and has to figure out a plan. Not being on her own anymore has absolutely been a blessing, but it has also decreased her usually very useful ability to make quick decisions. “I’ll figure something out.” Mila bites her lower lip. 

The apple of Mila’s eye returns to his walkman device, tumbles over on his back on the bed and starts to air cycle with his short legs. Imagine being able to be so carefree in the middle of a siege, Mila thinks to herself and can’t help but smile at Juri’s coolness. 

Just as she’s about to follow Juri’s example, plump down on the bed and stair at the ceiling, maybe doing some air cycling as well, she hears a loud crashing sound outside. Wood breaking, followed by something like metal cans falling to the ground. That can’t be good. Mila hurries over to the window, almost trips on Eddie-the-teddie-Vedder on her way, pushes it open and looks out with her heart in her throat. 

Has the walkers finally made their way into the house? No, not their house, not the second one either. It must be over at Jessie’s. 

“Fuck, fuck-” Mila sputters, and rests her forehead towards the open window. Now she really needs to get them over there. It’s foolish, risking both her and Juri’s lives by doing so, but it’s not just the two of them anymore. “Govno… SHIT!”

The flash of genius does not wait. It hits her like a meteorite, a damn stupid one. But it’s the only idea she has. What Mila said earlier to Spencer pops into her mind. The climb. Her eyes wander from the roof covering the porch underneath the window she’s standing in, to the roof on the other house, further over to Jessie’s porch. It’s not a climb, but she could easily make a jump for the other roof. But but what about two? 

The gaps between the houses aren’t big, they stand quite narrow, but could still potentially be lethal, if she made a mistake. Not that she plans to- could she do both jumps, carrying Juri? It’s a risk she has to take. 

It’s my only option, Mila thinks and turns around with a determined expression on her face. Juri looks at her from his upside down position. 

“We gotta go, Malysh.” Mila explains and walks over to the bed and grabs her rifle and swings it over her head. “Bring the walkman, will you?” 

Juri nods obediently and climbs up to standing position on the soft covers, before climbing down on the floor. Mila rips the covers from the bed, takes the sheet from the messy bundle of pillows and covers and rips it into two pieces. With the torn sheet over her shoulders, Mila lifts Juri from the floor and walks over to the window, swings her leg over the window sill and settles down, with one leg at each side over the window frame. She meets Juri’s wondering, yet ever so calm, eyes, as he looks around, interested in what’s gonna happen next. 

“Now, this is very dangerous.” Mila explains, as motherly as she can. “And you’re not supposed to do this. But drastic times call for drastic measures.”

She gets out and settles with both of her feets on the roof, finding a balance point, leaving Juri sitting in the window. 

When Mila was a toddler, a long time ago, back in Russia, her mother and her grandmother used to carry her around in makeshift harnesses, made of towels, big shawls and sometimes even old, stained tablecloths. When Mila was pregnant with Juri, her mother showed her how to make such a nifty harness over Skype. Way much cheaper than buying a Baby Bjorn! They practiced for months, Mila, her mother and Ellie Galka, over the struggling video transmission with poor resolution and delayed sound. But practice makes perfect, and by now Mila can create a harness, with her eyes closed, in her sleep. She quickly twists the sheet around her waist, ties and soon she has created a craft for Juri to sit in. Mila helps Juri climb up on her back, getting his legs into position on each side of her body, while feeling her spine deform itself into something similar to an accordion. He’s a bit heavier now. She’ll need a cane earlier than expected if this continues.

“Put the headphones on.” Mila instructs Juri as she looks over the edge of the roof, estimating the gap to ‘fair’. It’s doable, hopefully. With Juri on her back, and equipped with weapons and ammunition, she weighs more than she expected. “It’ll be okay, Juri. It’ll be okay…” 

Mila’s heart beats like a runaway train inside her chest. But to hesitate now would be unhealthy, foolish. Mila takes a couple of deep breaths, clears her mind, as if she prepared for a gymnastic display. Below them the crowd of walkers crawling around like ants. They haven’t spotted them however. A soft squeeze on her arm signals that Juri is ready. It’s now or never. Can she jump or not? 

With the willpower of a bull that sees red, Mila sprints over the short roof, like a fighter jet taking on a slightly too short runway. She charges, her feet lift off the ground and they fly through the air, over the clueless walkers, crowded between the houses. She lands with a thump on the sloping sheet metal roof on the other porch, with her heart stuck in her throat and climbs like a monkey up to the leveled part of the porch roof. Mila exclaims in sheer surprise, breathes gaspingly while Juri claps his small hands over her head. They made it! She made the jump! 

But there’s another one to make. The one to Jessie’s house. Carefully, not to slip and slide down the sloping roof, Mila climbs over the roof, past the windows and towards the other end of the porch, the one next to Jessie’s. The house looks like a besieged city and the walkers have managed to get inside. The tiny flame of hope begins to weaken within Mila, but she refuses to give up, and there’s no reason to sneak around anymore. She needs answers, now! She puts her fingers in the corners of her mouth and whistles, loudly, signaling their presence on the roof for the entire street. 

The heart slows down from its manic techno dance inside Mila’s chest when Michonne appears in the window, facing the street. She opens the window and, without a word, climbs out onto the roof.

“You’re alright.” Mila sighs in relief at the sight of Michonne, but also by the sight of Rick and Jessie, who also appear in the open window.

“We blocked the stairs.” Michonne replies and gives Mila a faint smile, as in relief. 

Mila meets Rick’s gaze over Michonne’s shoulder. The sheriff gives her an impressed nod, before Mila returns to the dreadlocked woman at the other roof. 

“Good to see you.” Mila says.

“You too.” Michonne squats. “Can you make the jump?”

“If you’re prepared to catch us.” 

She starts backing away from the edge, carefully. The porch is approximately ten meters long, slopes and feels like walking on a slide. One wrong step would be the end of it. With one last look down at the street, at the hungry carcasses swarming at her feets like a drunken sea of spectators at a music festival, Mila once again prepares to make a leap; a deep breath in, filling the lungs with air, followed by a breath out. She hugs Juri’s denim dressed leg, before bolting over the metal roof, boots banging against the metal, before leaping as far as she possibly can through the air, landing on her toes and knees on the other side, into the arms of Michonne, causing the otherwise agile woman to fall on her behind. No wonder, when there’s a mother with a toddler in a homemade harness on her back, equipped with a rifle, flying through the air. Heavily panting from the adrenalin rush, caused by not only making the first jump, but also the second, the three of them get inside the house, where Rick, Jessie, Carl and Ron stand, sweaty and ravaged. No wonder, trying to keep the walkers away from getting upstairs and inside the house. Mila nods at the crowd through heavy breathing, squats on aching legs and lets Juri climb out of the sheet on her back. Rick looks at her from underneath the sweaty bangs, all curled up in his forehead, gives her a gaze of disbelief and relief.

“What a climb.” 

“Jumps.” Mila corrects pantingly. “Twice.” She meets his gaze. “Told you I’d made it. ”

“You alright?” Rick asks, eyes wandering between her and Juri down on the floor. “Where’s Daryl?”

“The radio-” Mila says. “Abraham and Sasha, they’re back. Daryl went out to get them.”

“Where?” 

“Don’t know. The other side of the wall.” She takes another deep breath and looks around at them. “Are you guys alright?” But the look she gets back at those words makes Mila frown. “What? What is it?”

Somewhere down the hall, Judith starts to cry. Carl turns as if on command and hurries to comfort his sister. Juri looks at him wonderingly, almost longingly, as he walks away; his idol, his hero. As if he was his big brother too. Mila, on the other hand looks, still with a frown, at Rick, Michonne and Jessie. 

“It’s Deanna.” Rick sighs. “She won’t make it.” 

“Wha-” Mila puts her hands over Juri’s ears, who’s full attention is still locked at the door, where Carl disappeared seconds ago. “She’s bitten?”

Jessie nods, the brown eyes are agitated and she seems to struggle to stay calm, for the sake of her kids probably. Ron seems shaken and the younger boy, Sam, is nowhere to be seen, probably in his room. 

“She doesn’t have much time.” the blonde mother of two says. 

“But- How? When?”

“When the wall went down.” Rick explains. “And we-” he looks around at them. “gotta get out of here. They’ll get up here sooner or later.”

“Any ideas how that’s gonna work?” Mila expresses with ill-concealed doubt. No, it seems impossible.

“I might have an idea.” Michonne says. “Are any of ya’ squeamish?"


	25. Jersey on my mind (Part 25)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disguised and surrounded by bloodthirsty walkers, Mila gets an unwelcome flashback from a dirty, run-down motel room in Missouri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.I hope you will like the story.

”It won’t work.”

“It gotta work.”

“Please-” Jessie’s eyes begs Rick to change his mind. “There’s gotta be another way.” She turns and pleadingly looks at the others, a desperate attempt to get some back up. To be reassured that she’s not the only one feeling uneasy with this. “There has to-” 

Oh, how Mila wished there was another way. How she wishes she could be on Jessie’s side. But unlike Jessie, she’s well aware of the harsh reality. This is their only chance no matter how crazy, how moonstruck it may be. Like walking right into a bear’s den. 

Knowing they would soon be overrun, Michonne started presenting her plan, or rather idea on how to make a desperate attempt to escape. It was completely insane, as taken straight out of a movie. Had Rick not confirmed that Michonne’s plan had worked before, Mila would have thought it was a bad joke. But in the end, they gathered in a circle around the two annihilated walkers Rick had dragged upstairs. The stench was acrid, plagued the whole room and found its way into their nostrils, causing them to put their hands over their noses. With as much of a stern voice Mila could persuade herself to use, she told Juri not to under any circumstances look in their direction, as Rick started to gut the walkers with his knife. 

“Did you think this was a good idea the last time you did… this?” Mila had to ask Michonne while she and Rick tore out intestines and laid on the carpet.

“It made me survive.” Michonne replied. 

Mila used to consider herself quite resilient, hard headed with an iron stomach, but this was actually quite disgusting. 

All of them are now camouflaged in rotten bowels, hoping they can disguise themselves and pass through the herd. Had she been alone, she would not have thought it was as problematic, but with Juri in her arms, it’s a different matter.

“You go first, with Gabriel.” Rick commands Mila, who has once again put on the sheet-harness, on the front, to spare her back. They made the hole in the sheet extra wide for both of their heads. “Carl, you follow.” Rick looks at Carl, who nods. 

“Okay, dad.” Carl meets Mila’s eyes, as to say ‘I cover you’. Mila replies in a gaze; ‘ditto’. Carl smiles and looks at Juri, then bursts into an encouraging smile. “We got this, little dude.”

Mila turns to Gabriel, all wrapped up in a sheet and what looks like a wizened duodenum, carrying the sleeping baby Judith. The priest looks as sceptical to this whole mission as Mila feels, also incredibly disgusted. Mila doesn’t want to know what body parts Rick threw over her shoulders. Lungs or whatever, she has blocked both her vomiting reflexes and sense of smell by now.

As soon as they step into the herd, Mila prepares for battle, ready to grab her weapons and- But nothing happens, nothing of the usual. The stabbing, hungry jaws are absent. Every step of the tail the group has created by holding hands, is a step further away from Deanna. The dying woman’s raging war cry as she opened her door and attacked the walkers, creating some sort of diversion for them, has gone silent. Mila swallows and presses Juri closer, as they open the front door. The group enters the walker-infested street, quietly, very carefully. It’s a surreal experience, being able to walk amongst the walking dead without them being hostile. And yet, it’s terrifying. Mila presses Carl’s hand, who hugs hers back as they cautiously walk past a decomposing male, whose jaw touches his shoulder as he turns from one side to the other. 

A flash of images, like picture frames, sweeps past Mila’s eyes, makes her heartbeat increase. Sweat runs down her back and forehead and she suddenly feels extremely anxious. The images make her sway, feel all dizzy. The familiar, but yet incredibly different, face appears in front of her, just as clear as that morning in the abandoned motel room, somewhere in Missouri. 

It’s like being thrown back in time a few months. 

She awoke by noticing that Jim wasn’t in bed with them. Curled up on the edge of the bed, behind Mila, Juri snored faintly, cradling Bruce the bunny. Jim had been a bit powerless the last few days, waved it off as a cold. Through squinting eyes she searched the motel room. The door to the bathroom was half closed. That’s when she felt something wet next to her in the bed. Mila went from half asleep to wide awake in the matter of seconds, looking in pure horror at the big pool of something red on the sheets. Fresh blood. Quickly Mila turned, shook Juri awake and went on tiptoe with the newly awakened boy in her arms, carefully opened the closet and put him in there. As the closet doors closed and encapsulated the newly awakened three-year-old, Mila turned to the small gap in the bathroom door, tried to listen for any sound. 

“Jim?” she said, quietly, shivering. 

She was present enough to understand that the large pool of fresh blood in the bed couldn’t mean anything good. But emotionally she was in denial. When she didn’t get a response she put her hand on the door and lightly pushed it open. 

“Jim?” 

As the door flung open, she was met by Jim’s bare, muscular back, holding a strange posture as he held onto the sink. Not the usual proud, straight back she was used to. She once again said his name out loud, more like a plea. When he turned around Mila had to put her hands over her mouth, preventing herself from screaming out loud in pure grief. He looked awful, all grayish and distorted, the brown eyes were milky and blood was seeping out of his mouth. It felt like her heart broke into a thousand pieces at the sight of him. 

She started to back off when Jim started to stumble against her with the same movement pattern as a very drunk gorilla, anything but his usual, proud demeanor. Desperately, in vain, Mila tried to make contact with him, calling his name. 

”Jim! Please- Jim!”

That’s when he attacked her, lunged for her. Mila screamed and jumped backwards. With tears streaming down her face she fended him off, while begging him to stop. She started to throw things at him, a lamp, his shoes, the car keys, but he didn’t react. That’s when he threw himself on her, and they tumbled down onto the floor, him on top of her. 

”Jim!” she cried, in panic. ”Jim, no! No no no, please, please- Jim!”

She fought for her life to keep his blood-filled mouth away, while she kicked and tried to get out from underneath him. She wanted to cry out for help, but that would be in vain. No one would hear her. No one would help her. In the tumult, she therefore started to search the room for some kind of weapon, while continuing to plead, pantingly, for Jim to stop, to wake up. 

”Please baby, wake up!”

She began to feel how her arms trembled under the heavy weight of the big man, the man she went to bed with last night, who told her ‘good night, love’. And instructed Juri ‘not let the bedbugs bite you’. 

That’s when she saw it. Jim’s hunting knife, attached to the belt in his jeans, lying in a pile on the floor. Her only chance to get out of this nightmare alive. She started to reach for it with one hand, knowing very well it was a matter of seconds before the arm keeping Jim away from her, would give away from the weight. It was the thought of Juri, hiding in the closet, that made Mila go into full on survival mode. If she would die, Jim, or whoever this creature on top of her was, would go after Juri. 

Then everything went so fast, and yet, felt like slow motion. Mila got a grip of the handle of the knife, pulled it out of the holster and stabbed Jim in the side of his body with the sharp blade. Blood blew out of the cut as she’d punctured a blood bag, but Jim barely reacted, even though Mila was sure it had hit some vital organ. She pulled the knife out and stabbed him again, in the neck this time, once again without success. 

”I’m sorry, baby.” she cried, whereupon she pulled out the knife a second time and aimed for the temple. 

It was like penetrating a watermelon. The body on top of her got limp and collapsed, while Mila howled. She thought she was going to die on the spot, underneath him, by a broken heart. Jim was gone. He’d turned. From her spot on the floor she could see a badly looking, infected, bite wound, on his arm. They’d been taken by surprise and attacked in Louisville, Kentucky a few days ago, but he never mentioned he’d been bitten. 

Paralysed Mila laid there for she didn’t know how long, feeling Jim’s weight on top of her. When she couldn’t feel her own feet anymore, she crawled out from below the lifeless body, and crawled up, against the side of the unmade bed, and cried; heartbreaking screams, hunched and sobbed, covered in blood. 

Jim’s head was turned away from her. From her angle it looked as if he was sleeping, lying on his stomach, rack on the floor, naked except his boxer shorts. Mila stretched out, grabbed a piece of his hair and let it slide in between her fingers. How long she sat there, stroking the brown hair while sobbing, Mila didn’t know, not until she heard a faint knock on wood and awoke. Juri was still in the closet. On shaky legs she rose from the floor, opened the closet doors and was met by Juri’s big blue eyes as he threw himself into her arms. 

“Close your eyes, Malysh, close your eyes.” Mila said in a cracked voice, pressing the boy up against her chest. “Moya lyubov-” 

Juri buried his face in her neck, hugged her tightly as she lifted him out of the closet, stepped on shaking legs over Jim’s body. She put him down next to the bed, out of sight from Jim, lying on the other side of the bed. Still with his eyes obediently closed, just as Mila told him, she helped Juri with the shoes, tied the laces with shaky fingers, while in a hoarse voice explained that they had to leave immediately. Like a robot, she put on Juri’s headphones and put him on the floor, so he didn’t have to see his dead pretend-dad’s body, while Mila quickly gathered their belongings, trying her best to not see Jim lying there. In the end, it was impossible to deny the obvious. He was dead. Jim was dead, forever. The realization of this rose Mila up to the throat. She threw herself into the bathroom, vomited over the toilet seat, crying. The pain was unbearable, a stabbing, aching pain in her heart. And yet, no matter how much she wanted to lie down on the cold tiled floor, lie there until she didn’t wake up again, she couldn’t do it. In the other room, on the other side of the bed, still happily unaware of the terrible thing that had happened, Juri sat, wiggling his head to the beat of the music. 

Mila crawled into the shower, unable to stand on her feet, showered off the blood sitting against the wall. The feeling of washing away the last living sign of Jim from her body became almost unbearable. To avoid vomiting again, she quickly threw on her clothes from the night before, took the towel and carefully placed it over Jim, still lying on the floor. Oh, how she wished he hadn’t been laying there, but instead stood in front of her, laughing with Juri, explaining that it was just a nasty joke. Instead, he lay there lifeless under the towel. 

Mila quickly carried Juri to the car, loaded their things and then stood in the parking lot, feeling completely lost. 

Was this how it felt to be alone? Huh, how quickly that feeling could be forgotten. She hated it. More than anything else.

Mila could not wait any longer. She turned and squatted down next to Juri in the car seat, took the small hands and squeezed them. 

“Moya lyubov-” her eyes filled up with tears. “My love, I- we have to go. You and I. Jim- Jim can’t come with us.”

The amazing thing about Juri was how well he could read her. Even though he was only three years old, he knew exactly what had happened. They sat in the passenger seat of the car for a long time, hugging each other and crying, while looking at the dusty parking lot and the surroundings around the abandoned motel. As she sat there, with Juri in her lap, Mila realized she couldn’t leave Jim there on the floor. She asked Juri to wait in the car, then returned to the motel. She found a shovel in a storage room she managed to break into and walked around the corner to the motel. There she began to dig in the ground. The sun was high in the sky and she dug while tears flowed down her cheeks. She went to the car to get a bottle of vodka, from which she started drinking profusely while continuing to work the soil. In the end, she had created a shallow grave in the barren ground. She returned to the motel room and strengthened, or rather stunned, by the vodka, she grabbed Jim by the wrists and began dragging him across the floor. Never before had she thought about how big he really was, how heavy he was. She barely understood that she managed to transport his dead body from the floor to the grave, the sweat flowed down her forehead as she rolled him into the rectangular immersion in the ground. It was far from dignified, but it was the only thing she could accomplish. Trembling, she closed his cloudy eyes, empty of life, and stood up, staring at the man in the grave. 

That was not how it would end. It was too early. They would grow old together. Sit on the porch and look out over a ranch, live happily ever after and die old, together. Not end like this, at a lousy fucking motel in Missouri. Mila crouched, took the cold hand and took off the engagement ring from Jim’s finger. She wanted it. Then she took his necklace and his watch, she didn’t want to risk anyone else plundering the grave. These were small, precious fragments of Jim, fragments that no one else would be allowed to take. Then she began to fill the grave with soil, howling with grief. Suddenly she felt someone pull her by the leg. Juri. With his small hands he began to help her put soil on Jim’s almost covered body. Then they stood there, next to each other hand in hand. There was no music. No flower arrangements and no coffin. The only thing they left on the spot, before going to the car, was the towel and the shovel. On the wooden handle of the shovel, Mila had written Jim’s name, followed by ‘father and to be husband, we love you forever, Mila and Juri’. 

Parked in the driver’s seat of the car, Mila felt it as if she left a part of her underneath the soil, in the shallow grave. She looked at Juri in the passenger seat, knew very well what she had to do, but how would she be able to go on doing it? How would they survive? She needed Jim’s strength, his calmness, to do so. With Jim’s ring in her chest zip pocket, Mila started the engine, took a tape at random from the dashboard and put it in the stereo. To the sound of Buffalo Springfield’s ”For what it’s worth”, Mila and Juri left the run down motel in Missouri behind, heading back to New Jersey. 

Mila is lunged back to the present, to the claustrophobic situation out in the crowded street by a panicking, much too loud voice, coming from Sam Anderson. 

“Mum, mum-”


	26. Jersey on my mind (Part 26)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mila turns from paralyzed to icy cold as the escape plan turns into chaos, and prepares for battle. And where the heck is Daryl?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.I hope you will like the story.

Mila is abruptly awakened from her flashback and turns just in time to see Sam, pale as a sheet, beginning to have a panic attack and Jessie trying to reach for him. Just by looking at the poor kid Mila knows that this won’t end well. The chain they have formed, holding hands, is about to breach. And so it does. 

It all happens so fast. Sam’s breakdown attracts attention from the surrounding herd, who quickly starts to devour him in front of them. Mila can’t look away, it’s as if her feet and eyes are locked, frozen on the ground. 

“Noooo-” Jessie’s scream, a desperate, chill cry, feels like fire in Mila’s ears. A sound only a grief stricken mother can make. 

Instinctively Mila presses Juri closer to her body underneath the poncho, digs her face into his bright blonde hair and holds her hands over his headphones, pressing them against his ear, preventing him from hearing what’s happening around him. She doesn’t want to hear either. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts goddammit, Mila chants inside of her head. 

But just as when passing a car accident- no matter how much Mila should look away, it’s impossible. And how much Rick tries to get Jessie to let go of Sam’s hand, how much Carl tries to free himself from Jessie’s grip…

Mila watches in pure horror as a walker clenches its jaws around poor Jessie’s neck. She barely reacts. It’s as if Jessie’s already dead inside. Another walker approaches her from behind, digs its teeth into the back of her neck, and she falls to the ground. It’s like a horror film. Sam, being eaten alive next to Jessie, blood pulsates out of their dying bodies as the walkers devour them. Rick, raising his arms, holding a hatchet between his hands. It cuts through the air, chopping off Jessie’s arm, freeing Carl who stumbles straight into Mila, almost causing them both to fall to the ground. Jessie’s scream bounces around the safe-zone, awakes the walkers surrounding them, making them search for the source of the loud, human cry of pain. With a pounding heart, Mila fumbles after her rifle inside the cursed meat poncho-creation Rick threw at her, desperately trying to figure out what’s sheet and what’s not. In the corner of her eye as she searches for the rifle on her back, Mila sees how Ron points something in the direction next to her head. Towards Rick. 

Before Mila manages to get her hands out of the bundle of fabric, or to push Ron out of the way, Michonne has pushed the sharp katana through the teenage boy’s chest. The gun goes off in his hand and the loud bang gets Mila out of her trance-like state, an effect similar to when papa sunk her small body down the ice cold water in the river Volga when she was a child, taking those dreadful ice baths. Hearing, sight and everything goes sharp. She looks at Rick, to see if, and then where, the bullet hit him. Her eyes stop on their way there, at Carl, who’s soft, sweaty hand is still entangled with hers. The heart stops in her chest. It’s as if he hasn’t realized what has happened. The whole group looks at him in pure, horrified shock, as Carl raises his head, looking at them from underneath the brim of the worn hat. 

“Dad-”

A feeling, much similar to when Jim turned around in the bathroom to face her, that horrible day at the motel in Missouri, embraces Mila as she meets Carl’s face. Blood streams down his right cheek, from the spot where his right eye was just seconds ago. Everything left of it is a gaping, dark hollow, where the bullet has dug its way into his skull. The only reason he’s not screaming in pain is because he’s in such an overwhelming state of pain and shock that his brain hasn’t had time to react yet. 

“Carl!” Rick bolts towards Carl just as the boy collapses. Mila manages to catch him before his head hits the ground and stares at the pale boy while panic wells up inside of her, making the lungs shrink to the size of raisins as the anxiety winds like a rope around her chest. It can’t be real. He can’t die, not under any circumstances! 

“No, no-” Mila pants. “Noo-”

Juri tries to turn his head, to see what’s happening, but in vain. Thank god for that. 

“Carl!” 

Rick kneels in front of Carl and Mila passes over the lifeless boy’s body in his father’s arms, gets up from the ground and feels her pulse change from rampant to disturbingly calm as she caresses Juri’s hair, as to say that everything will be alright, that everything is fine. She will make sure of it.

Just like when the Wolves came into Alexandria, Mila enters a mindset she is equally afraid of, as she feels enormous respect for. The mindset that her father, through the thick plexiglass at the Southport Correctional facility, told her to embrace, with a wicked smile upon the terrifying face. 

Without fumbling Mila takes out her rifle from underneath the poncho. Her heart rate has dropped to almost resting when she, calm and methodically, loads the rifle, raises it and prays to whatever god there might be present, that Juri has turned up the volume properly on his walkman. She moves forward and starts mowing down walkers. Michonne understands what she’s about to do, because Mila hears her call out between the throbbing hail of bullets: 

“Get to the infirmary!”

Mercilessly Mila takes the lead with Juri, clinging to her jacket in the harness. Michonne covers her on the flanks; the sharp katana cuts through the air around her while Mila wipes out the monsters going forward. They move fast, almost jogging. On Mila’s right side, Rick runs with Carl in his arms. Behind them, Gabriel hurries with Judith, now crying. 

Ten meters from the door to the infirmary, Mila begins to sprint, once again swinging her rifle like a baseball bat in front of her, before reaching the door. She tears it open, thanking some higher powers for it not being locked.

“Get inside!” Mila commands, while tearing off the yucky poncho. 

Rick runs past them inside as Michonne also reaches the door. She gives her a quick nod, before turning around and starting to cover her, giving Mila a chance to lift Juri out of the harness. 

“In, fast!” Mila instructs the stressed up boy, who quickly scurries over to a corner of the room to hide. “Keep an eye on Juri.” She commands Gabriel as he also gets inside with Judith. Mila throws the harness, now being a piece of sheet again, into the room and takes the door handle. “We’ll take care of this.”

She closes the door behind them and turns around, to the approaching horde of walkers. Michonne holds the katana in front of her, looks at Mila in the corner of her eyes. They nod towards each other and run towards the horde, katana and AK raised. 

This must have been how her grandparents felt when they tried to defend Stalingrad against the Germans, Mila thinks fleetingly, before colliding with the herd. Running through flames and fire, straight towards the gunfire, except there’s no gunfire meeting her now, only the walking dead. Despite that, she and Michonne are at a disadvantage, being two against, maybe hundreds. If there is anything Mila has learned about Michonne, besides being a loyal friend and one of the strongest fighters of the all, is that she, just like Mila, hates being at a disadvantage. 

The two women work their way through the herd, tirelessly. Until Mila, just for a few seconds, looks in another direction, and feels something bump into her. An approaching walker. Mila tips over and the walker falls on top of her, presses its face towards her, all grayish and distorted. The eyes are milky. Mila once again gets a flashback; lying on the floor with Jim on top of her, screaming, fighting for her life, begging for him to, yeah, what did she think? No, not this time. This time she won’t crack under the fear of memories. She’s stronger than that. With a loud roar, like if she was a lioness, Mila starts to hit the milky eyed male in the face with her bare knuckles, before a gunshot is heard and the walker on top of her turns limp. Blood seeps out of its mouth, down at her t-shirt. Mila wrestles it to the side, pushes it away and gets up from the ground. 

“Carol?!”

The tough woman comes running towards her and Michonne. Farther away, running in the direction of the infirmary, to both her and Michonne’s relief, they see Denise. 

“Are you alright?” Carol calls, while raising her gun and shooting a walker in the head. “Where are the others?”

“Infirmary.” Michonne replies, aiming the katana at a walker. “Carl’s hurt.”

They three women annihilates a couple of walkers who attack them in a group, before Carol, with a worried face, calls:

“He’s alright?”

“I hope so.” Mila replies and bashes the rifle stock into a walker’s temple, pushing it to the ground, where she smashes the cranium with the stock, once and for all putting it out of its misery. “Fuck, there’s too many of them!”

Just as she utters those words, Mila hears voices in the distance, over the crowd and around them among the herd. Mila soon sees Rositas machete shimmer in the moonlight over the heads of the walkers, followed by gunshots from Tara’s Smith & Wesson. A familiar thud tells her Morgan’s not far away either. To her relief, Mila also sees Rick coming towards her. The tight cop-hips move purposefully while he stabs walkers on his way, eyes black with rage and repressed emotions. He would not have come out here if it were not for the fact that Carl was in good hands, that he was going to be okay, Mila thinks as she meets Rick’s gaze, then turns and continues eliminating the enemy. The only thing she can think of as she kills walker after walker, almost drained of energy by now, as more and more of them approach, is: Where the hell is Daryl? Has something happened? She can’t go on like this for much longer. At least not sober.

It’s when her thoughts, in sheer exhaustion, begins to sail away to an unopened bottle of Russian standard, Mila hears a noise. Ready to bang a dead bastard in the head with the stock of her trustworthy rifle, Mila spins around and stops when she sees Daryl in the distance. Even though it’s dark, she sees him clearly. He stands tall over the wall, on the roof of a truck, with something in his hands, aimed at them- no, at the pond. 

“Watch out!” Daryl hollers over the walkers hissing breaths. 

Panting and completely paralyzed by the sight of Daryl and the truck, where she sees Abe, Sasha, Glenn, Maggie and Enid looking out at them, Mila lowers her rifle and stares as Daryl fires the RPG launcher at the pond. A cloud of fire flares up, revealing something flammable in the pond, as it turns into a pool of fire, that draws the attention of the walkers, making them move towards it like ants drawn to a dropped ice cream cone. 

Around her, the group regains the fighting spirit, but Mila herself is just staring at Daryl, looking back at her, feeling as if she’s going to break.


	27. Jersey on my mind (Part 27)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm after the storm is ridden out in the front seat of an old pickup, combined with booze, a sleeping toddler and a lot of emotions rising to the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well.I hope you will like the story.

Daryl places three soft knocks on the passenger door’s window of the old Chevy pickup. The lock clicks and Mila opens the door, letting out the faint sound of Bob Dylan singing: 

“-Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood, when blackness was a virtue the road was full of mud. I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form. Come in, she said, I’ll give ya shelter from the storm-”

“Hi.” Mila greets him, halfway through a bottle of Stolichnaya. Juri’s lying in the passenger seat, resting his head in her lap. 

”Having a party?” Daryl leans up against the car and looks at the tired, blood stained woman in the driver’s seat, looking back at him. 

”Celebrating another day of being alive, I guess.” Mila replies. ”Hop in.” 

She scoots over and Daryl gets in, shuts the passenger door behind him. The worn buttons and wheels of the radio shine faintly in the darkness. 

“You missed me?” 

“Yeah.” Daryl adjusts in the seat, as Mila lifts his arm and puts it around her neck, rests her head at his shoulder. Juri continues to sleep, breathes calmly in her lap. A heavy odor of vodka surrounds Mila and the half full, half empty, bottle tattles that she’s not sloshed, but seems like planning to be. 

As the fire spread over the pond in the middle of the community, like a bonfire on the 4th of July, and the walkers started to drag their feets towards it, Daryl climbed down from the truck’s roof. He’d seen Mila in the middle of the sea of rotting limbs and melting scalps, covered in blood and seemingly dead tired, with her arms hanging along the sides. A demeanor he had not seen before in her. Despite the distance between them, he saw that something was wrong. Mila seemed distracted. Deranged. When he landed on his feet on the ground, he stabbed his way through the crowd, struggling to reach her. 

Was she injured? It was hard to see at a distance and her being spattered with blood, that could just as well be the blood of the walkers. When he finally reached her, she had awoken from her trance-like state, returning to slaughtering, but her mind was still stuck in another galaxy it seemed. She was there, just not present, like if she had to empty her system a bit, by killing off the remaining walkers. She walked around the grounds, managed to find twelve bastards hiding out in nooks and crannies, until the last of ‘em was annihilated. Daryl walked up close to her and said, as soft as he could, that it was over now. 

“They’re dead. All of ’em.” 

If he believed his words would pull her back to the present, to make her feel better- damn, he was wrong. Instead he managed to lose sight of her as soon as the others gathered up around him, Abe, Sasha, Glenn, Maggie and Enid. It was Carol who pointed out where she, and Juri went, when things had calmed down. 

Mila holds up the bottle for him. He takes it. 

“Ya’ fought well, back there.” Daryl unscrews the lid. “Like goddamn’ Rambo.” He says and hopes it will make her smile.

“Yeah, I had to let off some steam.” Mila says in a husky, ‘half a bottle of vodka’-voice. “It was a bit much… all of it.”

“Ya’ okay?” Softly, yet steady, Daryl turns her face towards his, with his hand on her chin. “Ey, Jersey-”

The big blue eyes, not even slightly hazy from the vast amount of alcohol Mila’s devoured herself in, looks back at him. They’re gleaming like a sky full of stars, like she has been crying recently. He hasn’t seen her like this before, something between sad and almost afraid of her own feelings, exhausted with the strong combination of emotions. 

“I froze.” She manages to utter, raspy. “I- he could’ve died. Carl.” Mila sighs. “If I- I was scared. For the first time in-” her voice cracks. “Since I killed him.”

“Ey, Ya’ didn’t kill him. He’ll be alright.” Daryl says, in an attempt to cheer her up. “Carl’s a strong kid.”

“That’s not-” She pauses. “The flashbacks- It was like I was back at that motel in fucking, shitty Missouri. Killing Jim all over again. I- I panicked.”

Daryl’s astonished to see her like this; vulnerable, afraid even. She must’ve drowned her sorrows pretty good, while being on her own with the kid, after killing that guy. Jim. 

His throat burns as he sweeps the last drops of the clear colored beverage in the bottle. Mila reaches for a new bottle, cracks it open and pours a mouthful sip onto her system, without making a face. She then hands him the bottle. Daryl, in the mood to unwind, takes it and drinks. 

“Ya’ had to do what you had to do.” Daryl says husky, as soon as he has swallowed. “I- I killed my brother.” He lets the bottle rest on his leg. “Merle.”

The memory of Merle looking at him with that dead gaze, has haunted him ever since. Not everyday thank fuckin’ god for that, but sometimes he can see the face in his dreams. He wasn’t there, yet he moved around, his body moved around, tried to attack him. But it wasn’t Merle anymore. The sight of him made Daryl feel it all; grief, anxiety, anger, and boy it hurt. And he didn’t know how to handle it, except with unhealthy amounts of booze, like Mila. 

“Sorry.” Mila says.

”Nobody liked him anyway.” 

What a lousy fucking excuse. 

”How so?” Mila asks. 

“He was a jerk. An ass.” Daryl huffs. “Saved us back at the prison though, the last thing he did before- yeah.” Mila leans her head on his shoulder, intertwines her fingers with his, to the raspy tunes of another Dylan folk-song. ”He saved me-” Daryl continues, fixating his gaze on the dashboard. ”-more than once. Treated me like fuckin’ shit sometimes but- I owed him a lot. Guess he didn’t know better.”

Yeah, Merle always kept an eye on him, ever since when they were younger, in one way or another; well, except when he was sent away to juvenile prison. Despite being the teasing big brother he sometimes stepped up and helped him fend off their old man, beating him, doing things- They never talked about what they’d been through, not back then or later for that matter, instead they kept it to themselves. The secrets, the shame- everything oppressed to the point of no return, Daryl thought for a very long time, until he couldn’t carry it inside anymore. So he began to act out. Drink, fight and steal. Let off steam. What difference would it make? He was damaged. He only had Merle, who, despite the arguing and the fights, was the only person he relied on. Not that it was uncomplicated, hell no! Merle could be cruel, which made Daryl’s feelings against him ambivalent if anything. His brother was a huge reason why Daryl more than often found himself in fucked up situations and couldn’t establish contact with anyone, least of all women. Merle taunted him for it and Daryl went deeper into shame and insecurity, closing more and more, until he created an invisible, but armor thick shell where no one could reach him.

“Ya’ ever been with a chick, little brother?” Merle once laughed at him, badly sloshed, so the whole bar they hung out at heard it. “Ya’ boned any of ‘em ladies, huh? Or ‘ya a damn virgin, ya’ pussy?” 

And he laughed even louder, followed by a bad attempt to apologize for his so called ‘joke’. Well, it wasn’t funny and the damage was already done. Daryl felt humiliated down to his core. No fuckin’ wonder he’d never tried to find himself a girlfriend. Not that he’d ever wanted to or tried. Who would want to have him? As far as he was concerned back then, he was trash. A nobody.

Daryl looks down at Mila, whose blue eyes are locked at the steering wheel. Well, until now, he thinks. 

“I killed him.” Daryl continues, still focusing on the dashboard panel. “I killed Merle. He’d already turned and I killed him. We’ve all killed someone that just… felt more- worse.” He can’t find the right word. “Ya’ know ‘bout Beth?”

“Maggie told me.” Mila replies and nods slightly, while continuing to look at the steering wheel.

“She was my friend, and I couldn’t save her. Failed her, failed Maggie.” Daryl says and throws a glance out of the window. “Ya’ didn’t fail Carl. He’s alive.” 

The tips of Mila’s fingers run gently up and down his arm. Her touch is the most tender he has ever felt. He felt it the same moment he took her hand the first time they met. The fact her touch didn’t make the hair on his body stand upright in discomfort as if he was a frightened deer, was proof enough Mila was special. 

“Come on, gotta get ya’ to bed.” Daryl nods towards Juri. “Can’t sleep in the front seat of a goddamn pickup when there’s plenty of beds.” 

Daryl gets out of the car and walks around to the passenger side, where he lifts the sleeping boy from the long seat, placing the blonde head carefully on his shoulder. Mila stumbles out of the car and shuts the door after her with a thud, holding on to her trusted rifle and the vodka bottle. She walks around the car, over to him. 

“That… zhopa, the wolf-guy’s dead.” Mila says while caressing Juri’s limp leg. “Wish I’d killed him when I had the chance.” She lets out a dry chuckle and steers the big vodka bottle to her mouth. “That’d cheered me up. Is that fucked up?” 

“Nah. Can’t blame ya’.” Daryl lets his hand find its way around her waist, placing itself towards the soft leather in her jacket, to steer her in the direction of the houses and to prevent her from tripping over some walker’s bodies. “Let’s go Jersey- Ain’t carrying both of ya’.” 

“Don’t have to.” Mila says doughty and frowns a little. “ I’m not even half drunk.”

Talk about strong Russian genes, Daryl thinks to himself. And the stubbornness, is that part of the genes as well? He inhales the cool night air deeply into his lungs as they walk to the house. It’s calm, quiet and the air is different. Even though the threat isn’t eliminated, not by far, everything feels somewhat at ease for now. They have posted guards at the breached wall and will start to fix it first thing in the morning. Daryl hands the sleeping toddler over to Mila at the stairs to the porch, looking after her as she announces that she’ll be back as soon as she has tucked Juri in. He sits down at the stairs and leans up against the pole holding the roof up. When Mila returns, she has changed her t-shirt to one without blood and guts all over it. She sits down next to him and looks out over the empty street, sprinkled with bodies. 

“Ya cold?” 

Mila meets his gaze and shakes her head, making the long hair sway around her face. 

“Got all I need here.” She nods at the bottle of vodka placed next to her boots, meaning that sooner or later she’ll be intoxicated to the point where she doesn’t feel the cool breeze. “I’m Russian- used to much worse.” 

Ain’t a good enough answer. Daryl gets up, walks into the calm and quiet house, and grabs the worn, but warm, Navajo poncho he’s managed to hold on to for quite a while now. 

“Here-” Daryl says and places the warm garment over her shoulders. “-Ya’ ain’t that drunk yet, Jersey.”

Mila smiles a little at him as he sits down again, moves closer and wraps the poncho around her shoulders.

“Started to think you bailed before.” She says and meets his eyes through the dark, giving him a cheeky smile. “You took your time, Dixon.”

Daryl grunts a little, smiles faintly.

“Ya’ seemed to have everything under control.”

“I always do.” Mila leans against his arm and the amazing scent of her hair surrounds him, wraps him in a sense of security, drowns all other scents around them; sweat, blood. Daryl inhales her hair deep into his nose, it makes him all warm inside. It’s a complex composition of flowers; he can smell magnolia, he thinks, and something woody, like cedar or sandal. It’s a soulful mixture, it embodies her. He could recognize the scent of her from miles away, he’s sure of it. “But I’m glad you’re back.” She sighs and cuddles up even closer against him, turns her head and looks up at him. 

“Well, I ain’t going anywhere now.” Daryl says, almost in a whisper, leans his forehead down against Milas. “I promise.”

Her breath smells like a solid 40%, but it’s of no importance, he wants her anyway, more than anything. He clenches to the soft leather in the worn biker jacket she wears, not wanting to let go. From not wanting any human contact at all for decades it seems, it feels like he can’t be an inch away from her; she’s the final piece of the ship after a shipwreck. Daryl has to cling to it, or else he drowns.

”I can’t lose ya’-” he says quietly, knows that he’s more vulnerable than ever when he does so. ”I can’t-”

”You won’t.” Mila whispers softly. ”You won’t.”

”I won’t let anything happen to ya’.” Daryl mumbles, his voice hoarse from vodka. He needs to be closer to her, in the haze of the initiated jagg he feels an urge to pour his heart out to her, this magnificent woman. ”I care for ya’, so much-” He met her eyes. ”I like this. Just, being with you. And the kid.”

Vodka really does wonders, Daryl thinks to himself as he draws in the young woman by his side. Or is he this goddamn’ talkative and honest because he’s so sure, more sure than he’s ever been about something in his life, that this is what he wants, more than anything? 

As if she could read his mind, answering all of his questions, Mila says: 

“You remember what I said about choice in life? How I said that I made some stupid ones?” She takes his hand, hugs it. “This is not one of them. I want you too, Daryl.”


	28. Jersey on my mind (Part 28)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback: A dull, grey day, somewhere outside Moscow, a fourteen-year-old girl is getting ready to win a marathon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad. At this time, there are 28 parts ready to publish. I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all the parts are available there as well. I hope you will like the story. 
> 
> And there, part 28 is up and part 29 is on its way. I hope you like the story and the characters so far.

With accustomed fingers, Mila tightens the laces in the well-used, dirty running shoes. First the right one, then the left one. Like a ritual, she simultaneously extends first the right side of her neck, then the left. Her eyes flicker between a cluster of bruises on her knee and the man standing with his back against her, looking out of the window of the old, worn dressing room. The warm coat is free from dust grains and hairs. The dark hair is perfectly combed over his scalp and the scarf that protrudes behind the coat collar is dark navy blue. A poster boy for the state, or rather a man, but also her father, state official Sergey Volkov Yuroshenko. With his tall body and proud attitude, he could just as easily have been the president of Russia himself.

“What a day.” Papa exclaims. “Beautiful. Just perfect.”

Had it not been her father standing there, Mila would have thought that the man at the window was blind. Outside the window it’s completely gray and gloomy. As far from a hot, sunny summer day it could possibly be. 

Probably an old Soviet-era habit. All fathers who mentally remain in the Soviet universe probably think the same thing; the grayer the better. If it’s not summer and hot as hell and they happen to be parked at the Dacha, drinking vodka. The greater the contrasts the better.

The fog was dense over the landscape while the car drove over almost deserted roads. Mama and Papa in the front seat and Mila in the back seat, half lying, sleeping. She has been driven out of town, to a large sports facility with an athletics track, and a 3.7 mile forest track for cross-country running. Three weeks earlier it was announced on the school’s bulletin board that Mila had been selected to compete in the Moscow district’s cross-country race. Baffled, she stood there feeling anything but happy, while her two friends Vera and Nataliya happily bounced up and down next to her by the big board, overjoyed to be picked to participate in the same competition, but the one for girls. 

“We’ll come and watch, of course!” Vera comforted Mila, as the three girls went to the next lesson.

“Absolutely!” Nataliya agreed.

Mila glances at the window, past Papa and wonders if her two squires are out there somewhere, shivering and waiting for the race to start. 

“I have a feeling that you’ll win. I know you will.”

Mila yawns, doing her best to hide it. To avoid questions and admonitions to go to bed earlier, or to hear that she is a sleepyhead. Is it not enough to go to bed at eight the day before a competition, when all your friends are allowed to be awake until ten?

“Mhm.” 

“You’ll make a lasting impression.”

“Maybe because it’s a race for boys.” Mila sighs, lets down her legs and rests her dirty running shoes on the floor, finally saying something from her heart. “Haven’t you noticed we’re all alone in here, Papa? I am the only girl here.” She holds out her arms, as to point out the obvious. “I wanted to be in a race for girls, with other girls. This is-” 

Papa fends off Mila’s proclamation, waving it away with his hand.

“Girls are weak.” 

“I am a girl.”

“Don’t remind me.” 

Mila’s gaze drops. The statement is short, but says it all. No, she shouldn’t remind him. It only makes him upset. 

“This is a great day, for our family.” The voice is hopeful, or rather, full of anticipation. It makes Mila feel a bit unwell, sick. “The whole Moscow district. Many important people are sitting out there watching. A great day, indeed. Lucky us, being here early, so we got seats in the stands. Kirilov and his wife weren’t that lucky.” He chuckles. “He works at the office, on the floor below.” The elucidation that the colleague’s tiny, cubic workspace is below his own, real office, with solid walls, seems to cheer him up a bit. “What was the son’s name? Well, Doesn’t matter.” He continues. “They are losers, all of them.” Papa glances at her. “They don’t have what it takes. No. This requires stamina. Discipline.” 

He proudly straightens his back while looking out the window, at the stadium and the forest. Mila feels how the knot in her stomach grows to the size of a cabbage head; knows what’s expected of her. She always knows. Only first place is good enough, especially now, at the district championship. As if he could read her mind, Papa turns to her, with his arms clasped behind his back like an officer inspecting his cadets. The only difference is that it’s not a poor cadet he stares down, but his fourteen-year-old daughter, who will run 3.7 miles, and is expected to do it faster and better than teenagers who are both one and two years older than her. Just because Papa forced her to be better, faster, than her peers, than anyone else. 

“Second best is not enough.” he preaches and walks up to her. “Only the weak are satisfied. You, Milaya, are not weak. You will win. A second place would be trivial.” 

“Like being a damn clerk.” Mila mutters.

It takes a millisecond for her to regret saying it out loud, or barely audible, but Papa has the hearing of a fox. The dark eyes turn almost black and the big hand firmly sweeps through the air before Mila has time to react and duck. It hits the spot where it was intended and Mila falls off the bench and lands on the cold tile floor. With a throbbing head, she feels the large hands close around her neck and prevent air from entering or leaving her trachea as Papa squats over her.

“Don’t talk to me that way, devochka.” he hisses between clenched teeth, while Mila struggles to make him ease the grip around her neck. She clings to the steady, strong wrists and kicks with her legs, but there’s no use. He’s strong and frankly, pissed off. The facade has crackled, as it sometimes does, and anger is directed at her, as always. Maybe because it is always Mila who is the root of the anger, the sadness, the disappointment. One thing is certain, she will not be able to complete the race if he does not let go, soon. “Was that supposed to be funny? Ungrateful-” he breathes through his nose, whereupon he forces a faint smile to appear on his lips, which is anything but happy. He releases the grip and rises. “Do not disappoint me, Milaya. Do.. not..-”

And he leaves the sterile, chill dressing room. The door slams shut and Mila is left alone on the floor. Her heart is racing in her chest and stars dance in front of her eyes. No, she can’t faint now. Instead she coughs, grasps for air. Her chest feels like she’s just been close to drowning. The pain is aching. Angry tears want to escape her eyes, but Mila passes them back into the tear ducts. It could have been worse, she thinks. It could have been much worse. Mila repeats the mantra over and over inside her head as she coughs, and sits up. Bite the bullet, Mila. 

She’s gonna show him. She’s going to show them all. Papa should at least have a reason to- 

On trembling knees Mila rises, leaning against the bench and stumbles over to the dirty mirror on the wall. She looks past the scribbled “Galina loves Pavel” in red marker pencil and meets her own face staring back at her. A pale face with big blue eyes. The long hair is set in a ponytail and the fringe is a bit tangled, due to the fact that the hairdresser sneezed just as she made the cut, one week earlier. The head is set on a long neck, attached to a pair of sharp shoulders. On the side of Mila’s pale face the bruise is already starting to take shape and the lower lip is cracked at the side. Her neck is completely red.

“Zdorovo…” Mila sighs, touches the cracked lip slightly, to get the blood away. “Prosto zdorovo. Just great.”

Bozhe moy, he really did a winner on that hit. At least he didn’t aim for her legs. Smart move, Mila thinks as she adjusts her jaw a little, making the lip sting slightly. Then she wouldn’t have been able to run. 

Swearing, Mila staggers into the small toilet, a sad look; she turns on the tap, which of course only has cold water to offer her, splashes it on her face and shivers throughout the body. She blinks the water out of her eyes and looks out the open door, through the window in the other room, out at the gray weather. Spring sure takes its time this year. It’s freezing outside. Mila looks down at her poor, scrawny, bare legs in the red shorts. At least it’s not the river Volga in the middle of the winter. Positive thoughts. 

At the same time, the angry signal bounces over the area, finds its way into the changing room and announces that the race is about to start within ten minutes. Papa has given his ‘pep talk’ and has probably sat down next to Mama at this point in the stands, probably drinking Mama’s homemade hot Sbiten and eating sandwiches. Well, now it’s Mila’s time to do her part. It’s showtime. 

She leaves the shabby dressing room and steers her steps towards the edge of the forest, prepared to win a marathon. She has to.


	29. Jersey on my mind (Part 29)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the battle. Despite a hell of a hangover Daryl can not imagine a better way to spend it than with a certain Russian hothead, watching the sunrise and doing some carnal exploration in the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad.  
> I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all parts are available there as well. I hope you will like the story.

Daryl awakes by a cold breeze running over his face. He blinks in the faint, warm morning light that seems to have swept the entire surroundings in a pink, orange glow. With a grunt he rises on his elbow. It’s cold, freezing as a matter of fact and it feels like he’s wearing a helmet made of lead, or that his temples are stuck in a vise. The empty bottles scattered at the bottom of the porch stairs tells Daryl everything he needs to know about the source of the headache. He peers at the scarlet sky and the sun that climbs over the trees in the distance, that despise the dreadful hangover is painfully beautiful. He’s lying on the wooden porch floor on his side with his arm around Mila, who’s asleep underneath the Navajo poncho, an even better view than the magnificent sunrise. 

He lies down next to her again and buries his whole face in her long hair, inhales the scent of it that makes him feel all warm inside his chest, like home. Huh, so this is how it feels, he thinks, feeling at home? Safe and at peace, belonging. Wrapped in a poncho, on a porch floor freezing his ass off, next to her. A peculiar feeling, one he doesn’t want to lose for anything in the world.

He’s drawn back to the present and their surroundings, when the front door’s knob is turned. It opens and Rick steps out from the house. He stops abruptly when he spots them lying on the floor, right in front of the stairs. The eyebrows disappear underneath the curly bangs and Rick’s tired face turns into an amused grin. Daryl reacts instinctively and raises his hand, as if to say ‘Don’t wake her’ and carefully makes an effort to get up. Rick raises his hands, to signal that he doesn’t have to. 

Thank-fucking-god for that, Daryl thinks. His head hurts like hell. Rick walks past them very carefully, still grinning as he mimics ‘finally’ to Daryl. ‘Finally’ what? What’s that supposed to mean? Daryl throws the ordinary surly glance at him, clearly telling Rick to ‘shut up’. Rick gives him a wry, tired smile, before he starts walking towards the infirmary, to replace Michonne who sat at Carl’s bedside during the night, letting Rick care for Judith and get some sleep. 

Mila grunts and rolls over at her back, pulls her hand over her face and blinks. The gaze, the blue eyes, looks at him. She stretches on the wooden boards and yawns.

”What time is it?” 

”Dawn-” Daryl peers at her, the hangover really grows on him. ”Really early.”

Mila groans and sits halfway up on the ground. Her eyes wander to the treetops in the distance, beyond the wall, where the morning sun colors the sky pink, orange and blue. A smile is formed upon her lips as she rises into sitting position, she hugs her knees and draws a deep breath, filling her lungs with fresh, crisp morning air. 

”I love this time of day.” she exhales. ”The colors, the air.”

As smooth as he can, Daryl sits up and leans his back against the porch pillar, trying to enjoy the rising sun. It’s impossible. Too hungover, like someone poured acid into his eyes and he quickly closes them. A palette of the colors of the rainbow appears from the mix of too much booze last night and exhaustion, on the inside of his eyelids. Normally, he would have struggled with severe anger and irritation by now, walking around being grumpy, kicking things and being a complete ass for the entire day. He’s interrupted in his thoughts on “how things could have been”, when he feels a warmth presence entering his sphere and the unmistakable scent of Mila, as well as a faint and foul odor of old rotten blood and sweat stuck in her clothes, when she settles next to him. He takes a deep breath, the scent tickles all of his senses, and sighs with a smile.

”What’s that smile about?” 

”Nothing.”

”Well, don’t stop, I like it.” 

Daryl opens his eyes to look at her, just as Mila leans in closer, making her lips touch his. Softly, gentle as a feather, her upper and lower lip brushes against his, turns into a kiss. He cups her face with his hand as he replies the act of affection hungrily. The real world feels so far away and the hungover suddenly feels bearable. Softly, Mila breaks the kiss with a wide, satisfied grin from ear to ear.

”If they only knew.” she whispers. 

”Rick knows.” Daryl replies husky. When Mila’s smile turns cunning he quickly, as if to apologize, continues; ”We’re outside, on the porch.”

”So, what did he say?”

”Finally.” Daryl says, feeling a bit uncertain of what Rick actually meant by that. Might be because of the booze. He’s still a bit hazy, but Mila’s grin turns wider at his reply. “What?”

”I can’t blame him.” She’s interrupted by a growling sound, sounding very much like hunger. ”You know- I am really, really hungry… how about early breakfast?”

“Ya’ might need to wash up first.” Daryl says and squints at her. He quickly continues, as Mila’s left eyebrow starts to travel upwards. “Ya’ smell like roadkill, Jersey.” A cheeky spreads on her beautiful pair of lips and the blue eyes sparks. “What’s with the smile?” Daryl asks. 

“On my own? This hair doesn’t wash itself, Dixon.”

Her forward, but alluring reply makes his cheeks fluss, almost makes the damn hangover go away. Daryl feels a rush of heat run throughout his body like a bolt. Still smiling, Mila gets up from the wooden planks and stretches. The t-shirt goes up as she elongates her body, exposing a piece of her skin between the fabric of the jeans and the tee, but it’s enough to make him hard, make him feverish with desire. He wants to crawl up to her, rest his lips against her stomach and-

“You coming?” 

“Huh?” Daryl looks up, squints at Mila who looks back at him, holding the poncho in one hand, offering him the other. “Yeah.” 

He grabs it firmly and she helps him up from the cold wooden floor. He wants to say something about what she just said; did she say she wanted him to- what, shower with her? Wash her hair, what does that mean? He continues to wonder as he takes the poncho and puts it around her shoulders, then grabs the door knob and opens it. They walk inside the house, looking the same as the other day when they crashed into it, being followed by a bunch of walkers. 

The exception is Carol who’s standing in the kitchen. She looks up from a big, blue mixing bowl at the kitchen island and smiles at them. 

“Ah. There you are.”

“Ya’ up?” Daryl greets her as he closes the door behind him and Mila, who walks into the kitchen. He follows, with a confused bundle of feelings and thoughts inside his body; a mix of pulsating excitement, aching insecurity, shivering nervousness and how unprepared he was for someone else to be awake at this time. But Carol looks like she’s been up for awhile. The kitchen looks like a goddamn baking show. “Ya’ bakin?” He asks. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” Carol replies simply and cracks two eggs into the big bowl. “There’s a fresh from the oven-brownie under here-” She nods towards a checked kitchen towel, covering something on the counter next to her. “Next up, peanut butter cookies.” She points towards the bowl in front of her and then points at the towel again. “Why don’t you have a taste? You look hungry.”

Still hungover and surprised, Daryl barely reacts, still caught up in his head thinking about Mila’s remark on him washing her hair, a thought that made the blood in his veins go around like a rollercoaster. Mila on the other hand reaches for the towel, sticks her hand underneath and takes out a piece of brownie. She breaks it into two pieces and puts one in front of him on the counter. He takes it just as Mila puts her whole piece in her mouth. The blue eyes dramatically rolls back in her head and she moans.

“I think I just had a mouth orgasm.” 

Crumbs from the brownie fall down his throat at her bold proclamation. Daryl coughs and once again feels that rush of heat on both sides of his face. 

“I take that as a compliment.” Carol says and takes the lid of a big jar of creamy peanut butter.

Faint, soft thuds towards wooden floor tattles that a certain three and a half year old is awake and up and running on the second floor. With a clever glance that Daryl can’t fully read, Mila turns on the spot, with brownie crumbs around her mouth and runs up the stairs to Juri, probably standing at the edge of the stairs waiting for her to greet him ‘good morning’. Daryl looks after her as she disappears out of sight, hears her cooing to the boy in Russian, followed by her steps as she carries him into the bedroom again.

“So-”

Daryl turns and meets Carol’s eyes. She has a cheeky smile upon her lips. 

“So what?”

Once again Carol smiles at him. 

“I’ve seen that poncho before.” Carol nods towards the poncho, now lying on the kitchen island in front of her baking project. “But never on her.”

Daryl rests his eyes on the patterned, rust-red and sandy fabric. He’d totally forgotten about it. But since Rick already knew about ‘them’ it would only be a matter of time before the others knew as well. He feels his cheeks blush. 

“Gets cold outside.” Daryl manages to utter. “Ya’ know-”

“I bet.” Carol replies and pours the peanut butter into the bowl. “Was about time something happened between you two.” She continues simply and puts the jar down. “She’s good for you, Pookie.”

”She’s crazy.” Daryl says, with a wry smile.

”Crazy’s good.” Carol smiles. “She’s a mother, we’re crazy, in a good way. A well needed breath of fresh air. You’ll like it.”

Already does, Daryl thinks and takes the last bite of brownie and puts in his mouth. He looks towards the stairs again while chewing, wondering if he’s got the nerves to go up there. Just to be there, with her, or them. Apparently a bit of self-confidence that only alcohol is able to produce hangs on from the night before, next to the goddamn hangover, because Daryl grabs the poncho and leaves the kitchen, aims for the stairs. Carefully he walks up the stairs, as the other residents are still asleep. How early is it? Before he manages to figure out, he stands outside the bedroom door. It’s not closed entirely. Daryl takes a deep breath before he rests his dirty palm against the white surface, softly pushing it open. The bed right in front of the doorway is unmade, the cover is a total mess caused by the once again sleeping kiddo, lying with his blonde, tousled mane on a pillow, with his back against him. Mila half lies next to him, caresses the grey pyjamas covered back, patterned with sleepy koalas, tenderly. The clean sheets, the soft colors in the bedroom is a strange contrast to the young woman’s appearance, jeans spattered with blood and dirt, the worn boots and the weathered hair. She looks up as he steps inside the room and smiles faintly, tired. 

“Bad dream.” Mila explains and turns her blue eyes back to Juri, cradling a soft bunny. 

“Can’t blame him.” Daryl replies husky. “After yesterday.” 

“Believe it or not, but it wasn’t about zombies.” Mila smiles. “Three year olds have way bigger fears apparently. Can you believe it?” She observes him. ”You look like you could need a shower.”

“Nah. I’m good.”

Once again his cheeks start to get heated, no, wait- his whole body feels as if he’s standing naked in scorching sunshine. Does she imply what he thinks she does? 

“I think it’s big enough for both of us.” Mila rises from the bed. With a quirky smile over her shoulder, she strolls into the adjacent bathroom. “Let’s try.”

This is new. Completely new. Appalling, even. What the hell is he going to do? His feet have got stuck in the floor. Daryl feels like an idiot where he stands with the poncho in his hand, hugging it convulsively in pure panic. Was it an invitation? To, what? Shower with her? The hell, can’t she speak her goddamn mind so he gets what she means?! He looks down at his attire and suddenly becomes extremely aware of how he looks.

In the bathroom, the taps in the shower are turned on. The familiar sound of water slamming against tiles makes him sweat. Feverishly Daryl looks around the room, hoping to see a hidden bottle of liquor somewhere, but in vain. She must have hidden them. Damn ya’ Jersey, Daryl thinks to himself while biting his lip hard. Bite the bullet, asshole, he continues to think, just as Mila looks out from the bathroom. 

“Bozhe moy, are you scared of water or what?”

He takes a deep breath and bites his teeth. Can’t she understand that he’s struggling here? He ain’t no goddamn Casanova, doesn’t know what to do in these situations. He’s never been in a position like this ever to be fair, and he’s just as scared as he’s excited by it. A bunch of walkers would have been easier to handle than this, but fuck, he wants her; the bundle of heaven and hell that is this mix of cocky Jersey girl and Russian madness, standing in front of him, smelling like a roadkill. That’s the girl for him. 

Before Daryl manages to force his feet to move, Mila’s relentless stubbornness takes over. She grabs him by the hand and drags him into the bathroom, kicks the door shut and without hesitation pushes him in under the water jet, dressed and everything.

“What the-” Daryl scoffs as he turns and meets Mila’s face through the gushing water jet. “The hell, Jersey?” 

“What?” Mila grins mischievously. “Go ahead, shower with your clothes on then, if it’s so daunting.”

He squints vexed at her through the water, immediately becomes heavier as the clothes absorb the water like a sponge. Without a word, as he kicks off his water filled shoes, Daryl grabs Mila by the wrist and pulls her in under the jet of water with him, so close he can feel her laughing breath against his collarbones. 

“This is a Russian thing or what?” he asks and blinks the water out of his eyes, looks down at Mila. 

“I hear you’ve never been to Jersey.” 

Blood rushes through his body, like a runaway train. Determined, he presses her body against his, his lips against hers, feeling her hands on each side of his face. A moan escapes her mouth as his tongue squeezes in between her lips. With continuous determination Daryl presses her up against the tile wall, digs his left hand into her long, wet hair, as the right hand tugs at the button in her pants. Reluctantly he tears himself from her lips, goes down on his knees and rips both jeans and underwear off in one thug. His eyes and hands wander from her ankles, upwards from her wet legs to the insides of her thigh; he meets Milas eyes from his position as the tips of his fingers start to fondle her. She moans, validating that he causes her pleasure, while closing her eyes, leans her head against the wall, lets her fingers run through his hair as he devours her with his gaze. But he’s not allowed to remain there for long, before she tugs at his hair, forcing him to get up from the floor and once again gorge on her lips, while continuing to fondle her folds to the point of them pulsating. Feeling her lower muscles convulse by his touch makes his pulsing erection throb against the jeans. As if she could feel it too, Mila unzips his soaking wet jeans with a smile, forces them down over his hips, releasing his erection, that bounces out towards her stomach. Still smiling she grabs his cock, a movement that forces him to tear himself from her lips in order to let out a restrained groan of pleasure. 

”Oh god-”

The ends of Milas mouth turns into a pleased grin as she pumps it up and down very cautiously, making him press his forehead against hers as he moans uncontrollably, while gripping the washed out, soaked t-shirt by its hem. In a definite move, he pulls it over her head and throws it on the floor. He gropes one of her breasts while continuing to kiss her, making her more ready for what he wants to do next. As if she could read his mind, Mila, in-between the frantic kissing and tearing the vest and shirt from his upper body, moans:

”Get inside me.”

Not being very talkative in normal situations, he surprised himself when he -though in a groaning, panting, almost broken, due to both unbelievably horniness and lack of breath, voice- answers her: 

”Ya’ won’t have to ask twice.” 

Easily, with one hand underneath each of her buttocks, he jacks her up against the tile wall a bit and supports Mila’s leg as she rests the foot against the opposite wall. Slowly and steady he then pushes his cock inside of her, moaning into her bent backwards neck as Mila inhales air into her lungs as he fills her to the core. 

“Oh- shit!” She exclaims and buries her bony sharp fingers into his bare back. 

Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t hold it, Daryl finds himself thinking in something between panic and pleasure as he feel a rush of delight spread trough his whole body- Fuck, it won’t go. It’s gotta, but it requires him to concentrate all of his self-control not to explode inside of her, in a matter of seconds. His body wants to let go and make it last forever at the same time. The latter seems to win his inner battle, and with a happy groan he continues to thrust into her, trying not to lose the control he’s desperately managed to tame. He hugs around her leg, feeling every muscle tense in the back of her thigh. Firmly he lifts it even further and thrusts back into her, a movement that causes Mila’s eyes to roll back in her head and her inner muscles to clench tightly around him. She releases a surprised, but very delighted, moan. Exalted Daryl realizes that he must’ve hit some kind of jackpot, a golden spot that transformed the hellfire in his arms to jello. 

”Oh my god do it again.” she pants and meets his face, with a lyrical facial expression, eyes glistening. “Please.” 

Nope, she won’t have to ask twice. He obeys, adjusts and hits ‘jackpot’ once again; her core convulses around him and her lower lip quivers, but she doesn’t break their eye contact. It makes him stark mad, his whole body trembles and he realizes that he’s closer to climax than he thought. He wants it to last forever, but none of their bodies seems to think so. With his forehead against hers, he feels how she builds up until the orgasm hits her like a freight train. He thrusts into her even deeper, prolonging her orgasm while his hips speeds up until he releases himself deep inside of her, feeling the feverish sensation washing over him with the hot water jet. It feels better than he could have ever imagined. Better than the first time. Once again it hits him too late - no protection. Daryl looks down at their jointed bodies, feeling his own fluids mixed up with hers, run down his leg with the water from the shower. It’s as if she can read his mind. 

”I’ve read somewhere it’s safe if you do it in the shower- standing...” she pants, cheeks flushing and eyes glittering. 

”Ya’ learned that in university?” Daryl pants incredulously and looks at her in disbelief. 

Between panting breaths Mila manages to let out a chuckle at his remark. Daryl pulls out of her, with a faint groan, and puts her leg down on the wet tile floor. 

“No.” Mila replies. “Carnal knowledge- kind of. Or just wishful thinking. Probably the latter.” She leans in and kisses him hungrily. “Okay, moi horoshiy, now you gotta help me with my hair.”


	30. Jersey on my mind (Part 30)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new dawn is rising over the Safe-Zone and Daryl and Rick have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn. I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad.   
> I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all parts are available there as well. I hope you will like the story.

“It’s gonna be a great day.” 

Daryl turns his head from the robin, sitting on the ridge of a roof, further away and that he’s been fixing his gaze on for the past half an hour and observes Rick. His friend lets down his shoulders and relaxes his spine, takes a deep breath and lets himself take in the silent calmness of the morning surrounding them. He’s right. It’s gonna be a beautiful day. 

The breeze hasn’t even bothered to wake up today. It’s the two of them, the robin, who sings his morning song, to announce that a new day has begun, and the walkers. 

“Yeah.” 

“Gotta continue working on the wall.” Rick proclaims, as if to create a to-do list in his head of today’s chores. “Check blueprints, find materials. Gotta go on a run.”

“Great.” Daryl replies and nods at Rick. He’ll get to go, he knows it, and he doesn’t mind. As if he were a tame fox, who no matter how domestic it may seem, constantly needs a certain degree of freedom and nature. But he doesn’t mind returning back here either. Not anymore. “I’ll go.” He continues. “Just tell me whatcha’ need.”

“Yep.” Rick takes another deep breath. “What a day.” 

His sudden discovery of nature, the surroundings and an overbearing serenity hasn’t sprung from nothing. He watched by Carl’s side for days. Didn’t sleep, didn’t eat properly, not until Carl sat up in bed and ate himself. The eye was completely destroyed and had to be removed. Thanks to Denise, Rosita, Tara and Mila, who, thanks to her previous profession as a dental nurse, knew how to sterilize scalpels and tools, as well as use sedatives and anesthetics. Thanks to their care, Carl got better, as did Rick. 

“What time is it?” Rick says. “Seven, or eight?”

“Prolly.” Daryl looks at the sun. He watched it rise, heard the birds wake up. Rick joined him shortly after. “Early.” 

“Ya’ wanna go back to the house?” Rick asks. “Get some rest?” 

“Nah.” 

Rick fixates him with his gaze, very ‘nice cop’-like, yet friendly and somewhat cheeky. 

“When I first met Lori-” Rick says, then smiles faintly, chuckles. “Boy, I was- Couldn’t eat properly. Couldn’t sleep. Like I went around in a haze and just thought ‘bout her.”

Daryl nods a little, smiles very faintly, but inside of his chest, his heart takes a skip. 

Has it been two days, forty-eight hours ago he went downstairs holding hands with Jersey when everyone was eating breakfast at the big table? 

After their escapade in the shower, resulting in soaking clothes that had to sundry at the porch roof, they stayed in the bedroom for the entire day. Juri wasn’t in bed when they came out from the bathroom, holding their soaking wet clothes. The smell of breakfast toasts was enough for Mila to understand that Juri was downstairs. Daryl left late in the afternoon, to join a group that has started to create a temporary barricade at the broken wall. Carol brought a late dinner to the working group. 

“How strange, I think I saw these particular clothes sunbathing on the porch roof earlier.” She said cheekily and bumped his hip, while he took a bite of a sandwich.

“Shut up.” Daryl scoffed softly. 

“Pookie.” Carol grinned and shook her head.

He returned late and when he entered the bedroom again, both Mila and Juri were asleep, spooning each other on the bed surrounded by books, soft toys and cassette tapes. He sat down in the comfortable chair, didn’t feel like waking ‘em up by laying down next to them, where he fell asleep. 

Their presence downstairs the morning after that was a silent, visual proclamation that yeah, it was the two of ‘em now’. Or the three of them, including the kid wedged at Mila’s hip in his pajamas, barely awake, but determined to not skip breakfast. Daryl’s heart pounded harder than ever in his chest as they settled on the ground floor, next to each other in front of the entire Atlanta group at the table. Harder than when he stood in the yard as a child and saw the house, his home, burn down to the ground with his mother in it. But it was different. As if his chest was flooded with a warm, deep sense of pride, a sense of belonging. The group hadn’t, thankfully, made a big scene of the silent announcement, which was as big of a deal to him as if he’d announced he’d become the president of the whole damn united states of whatever. It was clear to him, when they sat down at the table, set with pancakes and toast, that the others had already put two and two together. Was it Carol who blabbed, or was it by any chance Rick? Anyway they took it without any fuss. Thankfully. He’d never pull through such a questioning. 

But Rick’s right, to some extent. He’s been in a constant haze for awhile now. He can’t put his finger on when the haze was inevitable, must’ve been during their walk to the gas station, but might just as well be earlier. She had a special impact on him from the start. Those blue, piercing eyes looking at him over the barrel of the gun after they’d saved him and Aaron. He can’t get enough of ‘em. 

“Guess ya’ right.” He therefore says. Why would he lie? Apparently they’re the talk of the town now anyway. Jeez. As if the townies don’t have else to talk about? 

“That hurricane of- I dunno, feelings. They’re good. Validation that everything’s just- perfect.” Rick says and by doing so, puts his finger on something Daryl have felt some kind of guilt for, not always, fuck no. 

But it’s a feeling he struggles with from time to time, if just for a second or a minute. He’s not good for her, or more correctly; not good enough. But that feeling’s swept away as soon as he notices her looking at him. The blue eyes smiling at him, as a lagoon of homeliness and deep affection. 

“Never done this before.” Daryl says husky. 

“No one has.” Rick replies while looking at the robin. “There’s a first for everyone. Ya’ just- gets a hang of your own mind. The rest goes by itself.” He makes a movement, and gets up from the boards. “I’ll go get some water.” He announces. 

Rick climbs down the ladder and Daryl looks after him as he strides over to the store. He smiles faintly to himself, lets his experienced gaze wander slow and steady over the closest surroundings at the other side of the makeshift wall. A few walkers have miraculously managed to remain on the site since they made a raid and eliminated most, after the great battle. One of them seems to have ended up in a loop; over and over again it crashes into the hood of an abandoned pickup, whose tires have almost grown stuck in the asphalt, which has been taken over, slow and steady, by mother nature. 

A soft tapping on wood gets his attention. He turns his head, and happens to see something at the lower end of the ladder. 

“Mornin’.” He greets Juri, who’s small, soft hands squeezes the second step of the hard, wooden ladder. “Wanna come up, kiddo?”

Without hesitating, Juri climbs the tall ladder, with the walkman in his pocket and the headphones around his neck. The big blue eyes are determined, curious. Almost at the top of the ladder, Daryl grabs the boy by his armpits and lifts him up to the platform. The three and a half year old is an early riser and has managed to dress himself this morning too, except the shoes that Juri wiggles in front of Daryl, to tie for him.

“Ya’ gotta learn to do this on ye’re own someday, kiddo.” Daryl says and ties the tiny Chuck Taylors.

A small index finger is pointed right at him. Juri looks at him with a clever grin, as to say: ‘Well, until then, you’re doing it for me’. Yeah, that’s probably true. Daryl lets out a faint chuckle. Being bossed around by a kid is something new. 

“Ya’ mom’s asleep?”

Juri nods. Daryl smiles. Before he left the night before to join Abraham at the watchtower he checked in on Mila and Juri. Juri was tucked in for bed and Mila had curled up next to him, supported by at least four pillows, with two books about bunnies in her lap; The Velveteen Rabbit and The Naughty Bunny. 

“See ya’ in the mornin’.” Daryl said, stroking Mila’s hair. “Night, kiddo.”

The smile he received from Juri, all wrapped up under the covers with his soft toys was priceless and also followed by a thrown, open-palm kiss. 

Juri settles down next to him on the platform. He’s dressed in a pair of rust colored dungarees with a black jumper underneath. On top he wears a flannel to shield himself from the still awakening sunlight, looking very proper. The blonde hair looks half combed, as if he got tired with trying and decided to leave it be. He fiddles on the walkman, while peering out over the wall with squinting eyes. 

“Ya’ had breakfast?” Daryl asks. 

Juri doesn’t answer, obviously, but he puts his hand in the front chest pocket of the dungarees and pulls something from it. A pack of two Reese’s cups. Daryl grins. 

“Ya’ mom won’t like that.” He says, but gets an authoritarian index finger in front of the mouth, followed by a ‘shhh’ from the boy; ‘I won’t tell if you don’t tell’. “Go ahead, kiddo.” Daryl therefore says.

He watches as Juri peels the packaging open and takes out a peanut butter cup and hands it to him. They eat the chocolate-peanutty-goodies under silence. He’s amazed at the little boy, who seems to have the intellect and the ability to think like a child who is twice as old. Mila hasn’t coddled him, except smothered him with infinite amounts of motherly love, no doubt ‘bout that, but he can dress himself, make decisions on his own. He’s curious rather than scared and calculating rather than impulsive. He likes to collect stones, feathers and sticks, picks flowers, investigates bugs and likes to draw and listen to music while jumping on the bed or running around in the streets. And Daryl adores him. He’s a great kid. 

“Whatcha’ listen to?” Daryl nods at the walkman between the small hands. 

Juri removes the headphones from around his neck. He holds them up in his right hand as he pushes the ‘play’-button and turns the small ‘plus’-volume button on the side of the device, increasing the volume, leaking an old rock song. 

“Sounds great.” 

Juri gesticulates with his hands. It makes him feel both dumb and sad over the fact that he actually can’t understand the kid. Not that it stops Juri from trying, but he can’t understand no matter how many times he repeats his gestures.

“Sorry kiddo.”

The kiddo ain’t let down that easily. He opens the walkman, takes out the tape and shows him. Daryl reads ‘Boston - Boston, 1979’, written in black marker at the thin line on the orange paper label at the black plastic tape. 

“Okay, here we go-” Rick appears at the edge of the platform, but pauses and bursts into a wide grin at the sight of Juri. “Hey, little guy.”

Juri waves at Rick as he climbs up and sits down at his left side. 

“Here-” Rick hands Daryl the bottled water and then looks at Juri. “You’re up early.”

The blonde boy nods proudly, as to say ‘yup, before my mom’. Daryl unscrews the cap from the plastic bottle and offers it to Juri. He takes it and takes two small sips, before handing it back and continuing to look out over the wall. But soon the little nose begins to search in the air. Daryl and Rick can smell it too; breakfast. Toasts and waffles.

“Ya hungry?” Rick asks Juri. Juri turns and peers up at Daryl, as if he had an answer for it. He then turns back to Rick, and shakes his head. “We’ll be replaced soon. Then we’ll eat.” Rick says, very dad-like. Authoritarian but still nice. 

Juri nods and returns to his walkman, puts the headphones over his blonde hair and disappears into his own world of Boston, 1979. Daryl looks down at the toddler sitting between him and Rick, nodding his head to the beat of the music, so carefree and at ease. He looks so much like Mila, except the blonde hair. But his constant cool is something else, a hybrid between Mila and whoever the man who biologically is his father. Mila’s a hothead by blood, with impressive self-control. Like the calmest water which in an instant can blow up into a raging storm. Juri, on the other hand, is calmness personified whatever the situation. Maybe because he relies on Mila entirely. He never has to be scared or worried. 

“Now, that’s a sight for sore eyes.” 

Daryl’s interrupted in his thoughts. He turns and looks over his left shoulder. Carol is standing on the ground, shielding her eyes from the sun, smiling up at the three of them. Juri waves happily down at her with a proud smile on his lips. He’s with the big boys now. 

“Hi, darling.” Carol waves at him before turning her eyes to Daryl. “Ya' boys hungry?” Juri sniffs in the air and nods. “There’s honey and waffles for you, darling.” Carol smiles at the blonde boy. “What about you two?” 

“Sounds great.” Rick says. “We’ll be replaced soon.”

“Great.” Carol replies. “You’ve been up there all night.” She continues. “We’re planning a barbecue tonight. Why don’t you get some venison later?” 

I’ll be damn Carol, Daryl thinks to himself with a faint, but thankful smile. More things to do today, except collecting materials for the wall. 

“Sure.” He calls back at her. 

“I’ll thank you later, when you’re back with some meat.” She replies in a cheeky smile. “I’ll bring you three something to eat before you leave if you’d like?”

“Set up three more plates.” Rick says. “We’re done here soon.”

Carol nods smilingly, turns and starts walking back towards the houses. Daryl and Rick look at each other. Huh, a barbecue. 

“Could be fun.” Rick says. “Gotta chop some wood then. You wanna help?” He looks at Juri, who nods eagerly with the headphones around his neck again, excited to help out with grown-up stuff. “Great. We’ll start right away, after we’d had something to eat.”

Juri nods and looks at the two men on each side of him, rubbing his tummy, showing them that now he’s hungry. Especially when there’s waffles. He then gets up on his knees and, without warning, climbs into Daryl’s lap. The small hands start to fiddle with his vest, then with the cord of the headphones. Daryl doesn’t tense, but he becomes instantly aware of his body, as if a baby deer had climbed into his lap; he can’t scare him away. But Juri’s calm and relaxed. In the corner of his eye, Daryl sees Rick smile. 

“What?” 

“Nothin’.” Rick says and blinks. “Just, everything’s kinda fine, right?”

Daryl turns his gaze from Rick and looks down at Juri, who meets his gaze and smiles sunny, then out over the area on the other side of the safe-zone, contemplating his friend’s words. Yeah, he thinks. Things are actually kinda perfect. Fuckin’ hell, he feels great. Everything’s calm. No breaches and no herd of walkers approaching. There’s a three and a half-year old in his lap that looks at him like- yeah Daryl can’t figure that one out. But he seems happy. And there’s Mila, probably half awake by now, back at the house. Holy shit, he’s got his shit together at last. 

“Guess ya’ right.” Daryl replies.

“Yep.” Rick says, also turning his head out over the surroundings. “I’m happy for ya’.” He sighs. “It’ll be fun. Barbecue. Bonfire. The only thing’s missing is a harmonica, or a guitar.” Rick turns his head to look at him. “Ya’ play?”

“What? Guitar?” Daryl shakes his head. “Nah.”

But a faint smile spreads upon Daryl’s lips as an idea forms inside his head, accompanied by the muffled sound from Juri’s headphones, which leaks a guitar solo. Nah, he ain’t playing. But he knows someone who might. Inside his head, he adds another task to his mental to do-list.


	31. Jersey on my mind (Part 31)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smell of grilled corn on the cob, the sound of clinking beer bottles and laughter sweeps the inhabitants of Alexandria light years away from reality this evening under the stars. But Daryl is nowhere to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad.   
> I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all parts are available there as well. I hope you will like the story.

The smell of buttered, barbecue corn on the cobs mixed with the scent of burning firewood makes Mila’s mouth water like the cookie monster catching sight of chocolate chip cookies, as she and Juri make their way down the dark street.

“Can you smell that?” She asks Juri. “Smells nice, right?”

Juri nods eagerly and the blue eyes glistens hungrily. 

She’s holding a bottle of vodka in her right hand and Juri’s hand in her left as they struts down the street towards the bonfire and the sound of chatting people. Juri’s dressed up in a knitted sweater, sent from mama in Russia for his second birthday. The shirt was way too big for a two year old, so Mila left it in a drawer until they had to leave, to escape when all hell broke loose. It’s maroon with white, traditional pattern over the chest. 

“Are you excited?” Mila asks as they pass Jessie’s house, and a sad feeling overwhelms her. Poor Jessie. She shifts her focus from the now empty house to Juri, who nods at her. “Yeah. Me too. It might be fun. You remember the barbecues at Ellie’s and Joe’s?” Juri nods once again. Of course he remembers ‘grams’ and ‘gramps’. It felt weird to Mila that he knew her foster parents better than his real grandmother, whom he called ‘baba’. But baba was always baba. Juri gestures at her, expresses a feeling of longing for the three of them. “I miss them too, Malysh.” She smiles. “Think about the barbecue.”

That’s a thought that cheers both of them up. Mila loves barbecues. She has experienced several very different variants of the event during her short lifetime. Hot summer evenings at the Dacha at home in Russia, when the whole neighborhood gathered from the surrounding summer cottages in the largest garden and built a barbecue of old brick or sheet metal. Everyone contributed food and the vodka was lined up on a table. They danced, sang, there was always someone playing the accordion and some dexterous ribbons of wreaths. The smell of smoke settled deep in the clothes, but it did not matter, it was part of the experience itself. It was so easy and homely. In the wee hours, when half the vodka ration was consumed, there could be both hopak dancing and sniping. During the autumn harvest, people also grilled, especially during forest excursions and mushroom picking. Mama fried mushrooms over an open fire while papa boned fish. In the winter, they did the same thing, dressed up in several layers of clothes and fur hats. Their breaths stood like ice clouds from their mouths, but they didn’t freeze and the fire kept their cheeks glowing hot. 

In the States, she got to experience a different kind of barbecue, not as folksy, but still nice in that American, exaggerated way. Joe Galka owned a Weber grill, a piece as big as a piano, Mila thought, to which he was very attached. He could grill most things. In the summers there was a barbecue almost every weekend and friends and family were invited. Mila’s, Billy’s and Adam’s friends were always invited. Even in the States, people brought food to the festivities; meringue pies, apple pies, ribs dripped with sauce, mashed potatoes, salads and god knows what. Significantly less strong booze than the Russian festivities, but all the more pale beer; disgusting Corona and Budweiser, that the middle-aged men, gathered around Joe’s grill, wearing the same type of cargo shorts and short-sleeved shirts, happily sipped. And sniping was out of the question in the suburbs. When Mila met Jim and they went on hikes just the two of them, Mila went in childhood. They grilled over an open fire in the woods, or at a beach, using firewood and matches, an old frying pan and some simple tools. They brought food, coffee, booze and, God forbid, a big bag of marshmallows. Jim loved those grilled, melting sugar bombs, while Mila couldn’t stand them, instead preferring grilled fruit with a little honey and cinnamon. Then they picked out the guitar and the harmonica and sat there, playing and singing Creedence, country and other great songs, in the light of the fire, drinking booze, hearing the waves smoothly run into the sandy shore, the leves rattle in the breeze. 

Despite the fact that Mila sees herself as an established barbecue visitor by now, after exploring her way through several barbecue cultures, this is a new version. Post-apocalyptic barbecue. 

“Wonder what food we get, except for potatoes and corn.” Mila says. Juri chuckles at the thought of an all potato and corn barbecue. “Maybe some-” Mila thinks. “Green beans? Tomatoes? Oh, and what if they have found some broccoli! You’d like that.” 

Earlier in the day, Mila took Juri out outside the safe zone and went on a journey of discovery in a direction they had not previously gone. After 1,2 miles they came to an open field which Mila immediately recognized as a vast potato field. There were a few, ravaged plants sticking out of the soil, but the chance that there were a lot of potatoes hidden underneath was huge. She let out a roar of joy at the discovery and frightened a couple of birds that angrily lifted from the untouched, rugged earth, and flew away to calmer lands. Some distance away, a barn loomed and Mila purposefully steered her steps towards the grayish-brown building, where the paint had begun to flake from the walls. She pushed open the door and went in, made sure that no walkers were lurking before releasing Juri from the harness and instructing him to search for potato sacks, and other useful things. Mila found the potato sacks, while Juri found a rusty shovel. They returned to the field and Mila began scanning the earth for a potentially lush piece to start digging on. Then she started digging, while Juri began to scrape the ground by hand. The sweat evaporated from her forehead, but being out there in the big field with Juri, performing body work, created an endorphin surcharge within her she hadn’t known for a long time. She felt alive. The smell of the earth, the still breeze and the sound of the shovel shaft digging into the ground. It was agrarian, made her homesick for Russia, to the Russian countryside. Sure, it was barren and vast beyond infinity, but she loved it. Her strong, Russian soul needed an outlet right there and then. Mila started singing. A hair-raising, Russian partisan song, something her grandfather sang for her as a child. Then she needed to cheer up the mood a bit, so she started singing “Panic” by The Smiths instead. Whether it was merry was questionable, but the melody was catchy. She then went down on her knees and started to dig with her hands in the soil. Suddenly she felt something in the ground, and triumphantly she pulled out the lower part of a potato plant, where surely eight or ten potatoes were still attached, and they looked really good!

“Jackpot!” Mila exclaimed. 

While digging and tearing up cluster after cluster of potatoes, Mila and Juri talked about all the good potato dishes they could now make, making their mouth water with saliva. Potato gratin, fried potatoes with dill, moussaka with potatoes, one of their absolute favorites. They stopped digging after a sack was filled. Mila had to carry it home, and the sack probably weighed well over 30 kilos, so they stopped working and decided to come back another day, by car. 

“Sorry, malenkiy. Time to use your legs.” said Mila, hoisting the sack onto her shoulder, next to the rucksack. Well, time to use mine as well, she thought and felt the heavy bag weighing her down. If Grandma could carry two full buckets of water from the well twice a day for seventy years, I should be able to carry thirty kilos of potatoes back to Alexandria.

Thank goodness she had tough, lanky muscles. And they didn’t run into anyone on the way back. Soaked in sweat and back inside the Alexandria walls, Mila dropped the heavy bag in front of Carol in the kitchen. Carol looked as if she could not believe her eyes at the sack. Mila went and took a much-needed shower, while Carol and Juri started peeling potatoes. She then helped Rick chop wood. 

“Ya’ good at this.” Rick said as Mila, once again dripping with sweat after that very unnecessary shower, easily split firewood after firewood with the other ax.

“It may sound like a stereotype, but in Russia you learn this early in life, if you do not want to freeze to death.” Mila huffed and wiped her forehead on her arm. “Grandma and grandpa didn’t have electricity. Then you had to chop wood.”

She took a second shower an hour later, and got herself and Juri dressed up in, not fancy clothes, but clean ones, not covered in soil, dirt and potato peel. In front of the mirror she inspected the scar after the wolves machete. It was still red and bumpy, but had healed nicely, a slight miracle since she hadn’t been taking care of it nearly as well as Denise told her to. She then stepped into a pair of blue, worn jeans and ripped a top over her head. While Juri brushed his hair, Mila inspected him and cracked open a bottle of vodka. 

She’s accustomed to pre-parties and has been an avid supporter of the phenomenon since her teenage years; never arrive sober to a party, or a funeral, or anything really if you’re an alcoholic like Mila.

She looks at the brand new bottle of Russian standard in her hand, contemplating if she should sweep it at the spot to increase her chances of ‘mingle and jingle’. Before she turns thought into action Maggie comes up at her right side. 

“One could think everything was somewhat- I dunno, pre- all this.” Maggie says and lifts her eyebrows underneath the side swept brown hair.

“Feels odd.” Mila admits. “Nice, but strange. Be happy you don’t feel sick yet. The barbecue smell would kill you.”

Maggie looks down at the grey tank top underneath the checked shirt, smiles at the sight of her own stomach. It’s not prominently pouting yet, but in a few weeks it won’t be possible to hide the bump. 

“Can’t wait.” Maggie replies ironically and nods towards the vodka bottle.

“You’re prepared for disaster or what?”

“Mouth water.” Mila says simply. “Bad breath.”

“Might be because of the mouth water.” Maggie grins as they catch sight of the bonfire and the Alexandrians, gathered around it. Maggie sniffs in the air as a puff of grilled meat comes their way. “Okay, I’m starting to get really hungry. Holy moly.”

“Preggers cravings.” Mila teases at the same time as she sees Abraham walking towards them, dressed in a button down shirt for the occasion underneath his jacket. “Looking sharp.” She greets him as he reaches the three of them. His red hair burns even brighter in the light of the flames from the fire. 

“Gotta make the best of the opportunity. It’s a party.” He smiles and places a big, bearded kiss on her cheek and gives Maggie a warm hug before he squats and holds up his big palm towards Juri. “High five, little man.” Juri slams his small hand into the big man’s and looks really happy. “Heard ya’ found the potatoes.” Abraham says excitedly. “Great job, dude!” 

Maggie and Mila look at each other. Yup, Juri’s the hero and Mila’s the burro, carrying the goodies more than 1,2 miles back to Alexandria. Nah, I can handle it, she thinks as she sees Juri’s proud grin, being the potato boss for the night. 

“Come on, Romeo.” Mila starts walking towards the fire, that lures her towards its glowing sphere of heat and safety, awakening something primitive within her, a feeling that fire equals safety. 

All of the Alexandria residents seem to be attending. Even Carl sits on a log, dragged in front of the fire, next to Aaron and Morgan. His head is wrapped up and he looks a million times better than two days ago. The color has returned to his cheeks and the sheriffs hat rests homely at the brown curls. Mila smiles at the sight. Rick appears in her field of sight at the same time. He looks fresh out of the shower and as he approaches she clearly feels a faint scent of men’s perfume. 

“Carol’s over the moon with the potatoes.” He greets her as he stops in front of her. 

“Glad I could contribute.” Mila says. “Where’s Daryl?” She looks around, searches for the broad man on the other side of the bonfire and in the shadows, but he’s nowhere to be seen. “I haven’t seen him today.” 

Rick shrugs a little, as to say ‘who knows’. 

“Come on.” He nods with his head to the side. “Let’s get ya’ beer.”

“Great.” 

While Juri runs off on his own, around the bonfire to sit with Carl, Mila follows Rick over to a table, set with beer and soda. Michonne’s leaning up against the table top with a Coke in her hand, probably mixed up to a Jack and Coke if Mila knows her right, talking to Sasha and Eugene, who, judging by the strong scent, have bathed himself in shaving water. Carol, an Alexandrian woman and Denise sets the table with bowls of food. Mila’s astonished over the amounts of different dishes and sides they managed to put together for the evening. Sasha and Abraham went on a run and found an abandoned greenhouse, which hid all sorts of vegetables that miraculously survived on their own during the apocalypse. Another group of Alexandrians went fishing and also ran upon a few bewildered chickens, who had to sacrifice their lives for the sake of the festivities. 

“The wall’s coming along nicely.” Mila says as she lets her gaze wander to the wall, where the big gaping hole where the church tower crashed through about a week ago. The debris is all gone and the hole is temporarily fixed with a few cars, but the structure that's supposed to become the new, reinforced wall, is already appearing. 

“It’s gonna be solid.” Eugene says and nods, trying his absolute best to seem cool about it. 

Mila’s been amused by him ever since he introduced himself to her; he’s intelligent, awkward and quite strange, but he certainly entertains her with all his clumsiness and strange talking. Despite her nearly ten years in the States, language is still the biggest challenge. Mila’s still learning new words and expressions and Eugene has undoubtedly made it a challenge for her to understand what he’s saying from time to time.

“Yippie.” Mila preaches as Rick puts a beer bottle in her hand. She takes it and chugs the bottle immediately, feeling a sudden rush of intense thirst only an alcoholic can feel in the presence of beer and booze. The intellectual with the prominent mullet stares at her as she takes the last sip of the bottle and puts it away. His expression pokes at her shenanigan-nerve, fuck she has to mess a little with him. “I’m into some real kinky shit after five bottles.” She therefore says and grins wolf-like at Eugene. 

Eugene’s cheeks turn red like the fire next to him and he swallows. Michonne laughs into her can and both Rick and Sasha grins, struggling not to laugh. Mila reaches forward and pats poor Eugene on the arm.

“Just fucking with you.” She says and blinks. “Cheers.” And she opens the vodka bottle and offers him the first sip. “Here, it’s good for the nerves.”

“You’re a real tearaway.” Sasha says and breaks off the cap on a new Corona light.

“Extremely poor impulse control.” Mila takes back the vodka bottle and takes a bountiful sip, once again feeling the deep sense of thirst down her throat. “It gets worse with age, I notice.” She peeks behind Sasha at the table. “So, what’s for dinner?” 

Carol, who happens to hear her question, comes up to the group at the table, holding a pie between the oven mittens.

“A real feast, that’s for sure.” She explains and puts the pie down. “Ribs, chicken, fish, vegetables, potatoes. Daryl must’ve hit the jackpot, he brought back an entire forest.” Carol smiles and removes the checked oven mittens from her hands. “And pie for dessert.”

“Are we celebrating something?” Sasha says. 

“Being alive?” Michonne taps her fingers at the can.

“Anyone having their birthday soon, or just had? That could be a reason.” Eugene suggests. 

“Don’t even know what date it is.” Mila says and takes another sip of the vodka. “Mine’s in June.”

“Gotta celebrate something.” Eugene continues.

“How ‘bout-” Rick begins. “A party for those who can’t be here.”

“A death party?” Mila raises her eyebrows at Rick. 

“That’s morbid.” Sasha wrinkles her nose.

“Could work.” Mila continues. “Russian funerals often turn into parties. At first people cry something incredibly for hours and hours and hours- Then you drink until you can’t feel feelings anymore.”

“Sounds even more weird.” Eugene expresses. “I like Rick’s idea better.” 

“I’m gonna drink anyway.” Mila snorts and continues to drink. At least she’s dressed up somewhat properly for a funeral reception; black top, black leather jacket and, yeah the fedora might be questionable, but at least she wears black boots! 

They sit down and eat when Aaron, Glenn, Rosita and Gabriel have sliced the grilled meat and put it on the buffet table. Juri’s plate is filled with potatoes and vegetables as well as Mila’s and he’s got a juice box safely placed between his cute feet. They sit on a log with Rick and Carol; eating, drinking and talking while the fire crackles, the cicadas sing behind the wall. The sky above them is starry and the sparks from the fire rises towards the gleaming stars, millions of lightyears away. But Daryl is nowhere to be seen. Where the hell is he? Mila looks around every now and then, but Rick assures her that he’s alright. Why wouldn’t he? To calm her mind, she empties the vodka bottle and runs to get another one, just as the party attendants does a turn two at the buffet.

“Ey, look who’s back.” Rick suddenly says and looks at Mila- no, over her shoulder, behind her. 

Mila turns on the log and looks behind her. Daryl comes walking down the street towards them. In the warm light of the fire Mila can see that he’s fine, unharmed, but holds something behind his back. She gets up from the log, a movement that makes the others pause their conversations and laughter to look at her. Mila gets ready to give him a scolding, but Daryl’s facial expression makes her change her mind. It’s soft, somewhat gawky, but yet soft and not stern and grumpy. It strikes her there and then that he hasn’t looked surly at all lately, at least not while looking at her. She takes a step over the log and walks to meet him. The wrinkle created between her eyebrows softens as he stops in front of her in the light of the big fire. 

“Where’ve you been?” She asks and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Had a thing to do.” He says and screws a little, but keeps his back straight. “I’m here now.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Mila looks him straight in the eyes. “But where were you? I was worried.”

Instead of giving her a verbal answer, Mila has come to understand Daryl’s idea, that words are unnecessary sometimes well by now. He takes out what he’s hiding behind his back, and holds it out for her. A guitar. An acoustic sunburst Epiphone, with engraved flowers on the pickguard. Mila stares at the beautiful instrument as Daryl hands it over to her; the shimmery pearly detailing in the maple neck, steel strings and rosewood details. She lifts her gaze and looks at Daryl in awe. 

“Though ya’d like it.” Daryl looks at her, not sure if she’s happy or disappointed. “Ya’ said ya’ played.” 

Yeah, yes she did say that. But she didn’t think he’d remembered. She can’t speak. Instead, Mila wraps her arms around his neck, with the guitar’s neck still in a firm grip. The last time she got a guitar, it was Jim who surprised her with one. He blindfolded her and drove her to the music store where he led her in, like a blind. Mila stumbled on the threshold and tore off her blindfold, red in the face with anger over his shenanigans. But the anger ran off when she saw where she was.

“Pick one.”

“Pick what?”

“A guitar.” Jim reached out his arms to his side, to the guitars hanging around the walls of the shop. “Whatever one you want.”

Mila picked a light sunburst Fender that time. It was left behind in Brooklyn along with Jim’s old, trusted Gibson. At least their guitars were together. 

“Thank you.” Mila whispers into his ear and releases her grip around Daryl’s neck.

It’s one of the finest, most thoughtful gifts she has received in a long time. She squeezes the neck and admires the wooden piece. He really went off and found her a guitar. Around them, the other inhabitants have paused whatever they’re doing, to look at them. Abraham is the one that finally breaks the silence, still chewing on a glazed rib. 

“Well, whatcha waitin’ for? Play it, Jersey.” He points at the guitar with the bone.

Her mouth turns into a wide grin. My God, she hasn’t played in awhile and the guitar isn’t even tuned. She takes Daryl’s hand, intervenes her fingers with his and drags him off to the overturned log, steps over it and sits down next to Juri, who looks overjoyed with the possibility of some live music. Her number one fan. Daryl sits down next to her and Carol hands him a plate of food. It’s like someone pressed ‘play’. Everyone starts talking to each other again, eating and drinking, just as before Daryl appeared with the guitar. While Daryl eats, Mila begins to tune the guitar, at the same time as she gets meaningful glances from both Maggie and Carol, who blink at her.

“I did not know you played guitar.” Says Carl and looks wide-eyed at the guitar.

“I'm full of surprises.” Mila smiles cheeky at him.

“Can you make requests?” Rick says and takes a sip of his Corona.

“Depends on the request.” Mila replies. She knows that Rick has a similar taste in music as she; they have more than once hummed along to the same country songs while working, so he won’t have to be disappointed. “I’m a little rusty.” And not nearly drunk enough to feel completely at ease with performing in front of these people, she thinks and looks around. For some reason this is different than before. Different from the bars and the family gatherings with the Galka’s and Jim. “I’ll punch you if any of you say Wonderfall.” Mila squints her eyes at her crowd as she tunes the low E-string, considering the guitar to be in playable condition. 

“Thought it was Wonderwall?” Glenn looks at Maggie, slightly confused. 

“I’ll punch you.” Mila places her fingers on the cold steel strings and strikes a loop of chords, searching for a melody. She quickly finds the sound she’s looking for; huh, she wasn’t that rusty after all. With her tongue in between her teeth she starts playing something random. 

The sheriff's tapping boot is enough for her to pick Rick as her target. 

“Come on, I’m not doing it on my own.”

Rick takes a sip of beer, chuckles a little. But Mila’s serious. As is Michonne. 

“Do it Sheriff.” Michonne bumps Rick in the side. “We got ya’ back.”

Mila doesn’t wait for an answer. He won’t be able to resist later on. She adjusts the guitar on her leg and starts playing a tune, praying to some higher power that her voice won’t break. 

“As long as I remember, the rain's been comin' down. Clouds of mystery pourin', confusion on the ground. Good men through the ages, tryin' to find the sun. And I wonder, still I wonder, who'll stop the rain-”

She gets chills down her spine as she manages to pull the Creedence classic off pretty decently, sitting at the log between the men in her life, surrounded by her new family. Just as when she performed it at that bar with Jim that first time she performed like that in her life, a couple of years ago. She vomited into a bin before going on stage, or more like a corner with a rug of the small, crowded bar in Brooklyn, but as soon as she had the guitar in her hands and started singing, she felt calm, secure. Jim used to say it was a miracle she learned to play the guitar at the pace she did, having only played piano and the violin during her childhood. Guitars was a dumb instrument, according to her papa. Pff, what did he know? Prison was for dumb people, and look where he was?  
Mila lets the chord die after the last “-and I wonder, still I wonder, who'll stop the rain?”, then continues with Springsteen. 

“On a rattlesnake speedway in the Utah desert, I pick up my money and head back into town. Driving 'cross the Waynesboro county line, I got the radio on and I'm just killing time-”

She notices Daryl’s gaze in the corner of her eyes, just as she notices Juri’s nodding head and Abraham saying, mids a chuckle of delighted surprise: 

“I’ll be damn.” 

It’s like inviting all of them into a very special place of herself, a place where she can be something else than a mom, a dental nurse and a girl with a broken past. With a deep, lingering gaze, she tries to communicate that to Daryl, as a way of explaining her trust in him. To her, music is medicine for the soul and the heart. A heritage she has passed on to Juri when giving him the walkman for his birthday. 

“The dogs on Main Street howl, 'Cause they understand. If I could take one moment into my hands, mister I ain't a boy, no I'm a man. And I believe in a promised land-”

She removes her fingers from the strings and the chord echoes out into the night, blends in with the cheering. She’s warmed up now, overflown with the rush of happy adrenaline playing the guitar causes her, just as the applause makes her blush. Okay, let's go with something happy, she thinks.

“Here’s a lil' something to cheer ya’ll up.” She says in her most convincing country-voice, puts her fingers into a ‘G’ and: “Daddy won a radio and tuned it to a country show, I was rockin' in the cradle to the cryin' of a steel guitar-”

It takes Rick ten seconds to hear what song it is, he knows his country music. He jumps into the chorus, at first doubtfully, but encouraged by both Carl and Abe, who have taken out a cigar from his jacket, he seems to think ‘what the hell’, and sings a little louder, with more feeling. And it’s fun.

“Singin 'in the bars and- Chasin' that neon rainbow, livin 'that honky tonk dream.' Cause all I've ever wanted, is to pick this guitar and sing. Just tryin 'to be somebody, just wanna be heard and seen. I'm chasin 'that neon rainbow, livin' that honky tonk dream- “

He continues to sing with her as Mila follows up with the Beatles “Rocky Raccoon”, but lets her continue on her own after that, with both “Thunder road” and a country version of “I’m on fire”.

“Your accent disappears when you sing.” Maggie says as Mila takes a few sips of vodka. 

“Yeah I haven’t figured the reason for that out yet.” Mila wipes her mouth on the back of her hand as she grabs the guitar again, her fingertips pulsating from having to work the strings again. “But singing country with an accent would sound weird, I guess? Okay, one last one.” 

She ends her one woman-show, which could just as well be seen as therapy for her musically starving soul, with Kate Bush’s “Running up that hill”, as the flames from the fire licks the now pitch black sky, sprinkled with millions, billions of stars. 

“Say, if I only could, I'd be running up that hill. With no problems…”


	32. Jersey on my mind (Part 32)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback: Everyone remembers the day when everything changed. Everything can change so suddenly, and nothing will ever be the same. A day in the life takes a turn for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published work. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling or grammar mistakes, so I can learn.I started writing 'Jersey on my mind' two years ago, when my mental health was really bad.  
> I started publishing 'Jersey on my mind' on tumblr, all parts are available there as well. I hope you will like the story.

From the front door of the building to the elevator there were fifteen steps. Fifteen steps that passed a counter and an orienteering board over the more than ten floor Brooklyn building. 

Just as every morning, Mila counted the steps. It had become a habit, just as she, before entering the elevator, began to unbutton her jacket. Inside the elevator she let out a lioness-que yawn as she parked herself against the back wall. Thankfully it had been a calm morning. Jim was already gone when her alarm yelled at her to ‘get her ass out of the bed’. Juri was already awake and parked in front of the tv, watching Clifford the Big Red Dog in his pajamas, which meant that Mila could take a shower before preparing his breakfast. While Juri ate his oatmeal with honey under a blanket on the couch, eyes glued to the tv screen and the happy, big red monster dog, Mila got dressed. Forty-five minutes later she dropped Juri at daycare, kissed him on the cheek and hurried off to work. 

The elevator stops with a soft thud and she steps out on the ninth floor and heads for the glass doors to the clinic. She’s let in by the receptionists and is welcomed by the constant scent of fresh cut flowers on the reception desk.

”Good morning, Saif. Morning Vanessa.” Mila greets the always happy receptionist couple, lovebirds in real life, behind the counter as she passes through the empty reception. 

The dressing room is empty when she enters. Mila removes her workwear, the slightly fancier than nurses-scrubs in a sophisticated shade of grey, from her locker. She leaves the white coat on its hook (it’s way too formal) and drops the bright pink Adidas trainers on the floor with a thud before starting to undress. They switch between the grey scrubs and plain white every other week; head dentist and dental practice owner Said Kadeem thought it would be a ‘edgy, yet fun way to brand themselves as a fun clinic’. In reality he just couldn’t decide which color he thought looked best. It’s the same with his morning-, lunch- and afternoon coffee; with or without milk? He can stand in front of the machine for hours it seems, with his forehead wrinkled together in concentration to make his mind up. 

I’d die for a cup of plain, as black as fucking possible-coffee right now, Mila thinks as she pulls the grey pants over her hot pink thongs, reminding herself to do the laundry when she gets home. Putting milk into a cup of coffee is a crime if anything. She steps into the trainers and pulls the top over her head. She gives herself a last look in the mirror and adjusts her ponytail, before leaving the changing room, entering the break room. It’s not a luxurious clinic; no celebrity clients wearing bigger than their face-sunglasses or heavy politicians with a tail of bodyguards, but it’s one of the best private dental clinics in the area, which makes the staff spaces and benefits really generous. 

Gotta get some luxury treatment for making it through university with a toddler at home, Mila thinks to herself and steers toward the coffee machine. She greets her colleagues, who are already parked at the table with coffee mugs in front of them, everybody except Lauryn, who’s entire face is hidden behind a huge Starbucks blonde vanilla latte with extra vanilla and coffee plus caramel.

”Rough night?” Mila asks. 

”Never turn thirty.” Lauryn Cassidy groans and puts down the ginormous drink on the table. The bags under her eyes scream ’we need to rest you fucker’. ”Why am I even here today?”

”You’re thirty and responsible.” Kristian Shaffer responds. ”I’m impressed.”

Lauryn groans again.

”I liked myself better two days ago, when I was twenty-nine and carefree.” 

”Remind me to take the day off after my thirtieth birthday then.” Sarah Preston says and pours a pack of raw brown sugar into her coffee mug. 

”Gosh, I’m glad I’ve been there, done that.” Riley Palmer sighs and leans back into his chair. He puts his hands behind his head and flexes his biceps. ”Trust me, thirty is the new twenty.”

”My god such bullcrap!” sterile nurse Ava Cooper rolls her eyes at Riley’s remark. ”It’s almost as bad as that ugly ’carpe diem’ tattoo.”

”What?” Riley looks at Ava, then at his biceps, where ’carpe diem’ is imprinted on his skin with black ink, in a barely readable font. ”What’s wrong with that? It’s inspiring. Like, a mental note that-”

”Ey, we know what it means.” Mila interrupts him. ”And it’s ugly.”

Riley doesn’t get a chance to reply. Kadeem enters the room and a glued-on, convivial atmosphere settles across the table in the blink of an eye. It’s for the best not to quarrel in front of the boss. 

”Preston-” Kadeem announces and points with his whole arm at Sarah. “Hallie Reynolds called and cancelled Phillips’ appointment this afternoon.” 

”Is Phillip the one with the ears?” Lauryn looks at Aaisha to get answers, but the angelic Aaisha only bursts into a muffled giggle.

”No, that’s Lennox. You know, Dumbo.”

”Christ sake, Riley, stop giving my patients names.” Sarah gives Riley the evil eye and slaps him on his upper arm.

”Sergeyevna, you’re on your own this morning, I need to borrow Aaisha for some drilling.”

Mila and Aaisha look at each other. Kadeem loves his job, but most of all he loves a good drilling. Well, there goes that calm morning; making eye contact over the patients, joking around, singing along to the radio and Aaisha’s regular 11 am stretch, combined with: ”I’m gonna go down to the juice bar, you want anything?”

”Fine.” Mila replies to her superior in white. 

”And please, tone down that bluntness today, will you?” Kadeem pleats. ”We can’t have more body builders leaving the clinic crying. Everyone is bad at dental health and everybody knows it, you don’t have to tell them.”

”I thought that was my job?” 

”Our job is to dig around their mouths, smile and tell them to floss properly. And charge for doing so.” Kadeem turns to the coffee machine, which is the start of his first, dreadful choice of the day; milk, or no milk. ”Frankly, I don’t know how you seem to get them to come back every 6 months.”

”Witchcraft.” 

”Really?” Kristian puts his head to his side and grins at her. ”Thought it was your radiant, bubbly personality?”

“Nope, that’s Cooper and Cassidy.” Kadeem says, without taking his eyes off the coffee machine. “Sergeyevna is like me. It’s in our culture.”

Yeah, the much well known, yet tremendously rare Moscow-Russian and Shiraz-Iranian-culture. Mila smiles a little. As soon as it became clear to Kadeem during her first interview that she was a relatively fresh immigrant, he became overjoyed and felt an almost unreasonable bond with her. Sure, they are both honest and forthright, but that’s more likely a personal trait. Otherwise they are like night and day. But she likes him, he’s a good boss. And his wife makes a hell of a baklava, not to speak of the kletcha.

As the clock strikes nine they simultaneously leave the break room and heads for their offices and treatment rooms. Mila turns on the lights, cranks up the radio and looks out of the window with her cup of coffee steadily in her hand. Another workday. She puts the mug down at the counter as she hears steps approaching. In the next moment, Vanessa appears in the door, followed by her first patient of the morning, Mr. Hardin.

“Mr. Hardin, nice to see you again.” Mila gives her patient a bright smile and takes his hand, gives it a firm shake. “How are you doing?” 

She makes a gesture to offer him to sit down in the actually quite comfy dentist chair. She has taken quite a few naps in them after her lunch break since she started working at the clinic.

“Same old, same old.” The man with thinning hair sits down and shrugs at her. “At least I got the health.”

“I’m glad to hear.” Mila replies. “How’s Irene? Must be busy times now?” 

“Yeah she’s got her ass full- sorry.”

“No worries. I bet.” Mila takes a seat in her rolling, saddle chair and rolls up to the computer, where she starts to fill in the patient file. ’Hardin, Mark. Regular checkup. Tartar removal’. Same old, same old. “So, just a checkup today.”

“Correct.” mr. Hardin says. ”How’s the kid? Juri, wasn’t it?”

“Yup, indeed.” Mila replies as she takes two pale blue rubber gloves from its box. “He’s doing well.”

“Is he walking yet?”

”More like running.” Mila focuses on the framed photography on the wall, picturing a tropical beach with clear blue turquoise water. Holy crap, he’s growing up so fast, she thinks as she pulls the gloves over her hands. “He’s been on the run for awhile now. Just as I was apparently.” 

“They grow fast.” Mr. Hardin shakes his head, as if he can’t believe the basic biology of humans, and leans back in the chair. “But you’re young and healthy. That’s good. This virus, huh?”

“Yeah it’s really strange- Scoot, please.” Mila instructs her patient before continuing to check the tray on her cart, making sure all of her tools are in place. “Great.”

“Both New York Presbyterian and Mount Sinai West are soon overrun. I mean, if that doesn’t sound serious I don’t know what does. Irene’s working double shifts at Langone here in Brooklyn and they still seem to get more and more deaths each day. I think the death toll was, about 70 yesterday, and that’s just Langone. Must be like, 300 in New York alone.”

“Mhm, it’s horrible.” Mila replies monotonously, while scrolling through the x-ray of Mr. Hardin’s lower row of teeth from his appointment the year prior. She’s been trying her best to live life as normal as possible despite the deadly virus. Life has to continue, somehow. “Do you have any issues with sensitivity? Pain?”

“No, just tartar. Like, a lot. Irene found these small pieces in the sink-“

“We’ll fix that today.” Mila says quickly and gives her patient a radiant smile. She doesn’t need, or want, to hear what poor Irene Hardin found in the sink. She’s got a pretty good clue. “You’ve quit smoking yet?”

She turns and looks at Mr. Hardin, who’s shoulder goes up to his ears. He transforms from his regular, very accountant-self (because that’s what he is) to an ashamed puppy in the clinical chair. Mila shakes her head at him, smacking with her tongue. Mila turns to the radio and increases the volume of Angus Young’s voice wailin “You’ve been thunderstruck” to the more than famous guitar tapping. 

”Ah. This is why I like going here.” Mr. Hardin says with a smile and points at the radio. ”I listen to NYC Rock in the car, every day.”

“Okay mr. Hardin, let’s rock and roll.” Mila pulls the sterile face mask over her nose. It smells clinical and plastic. She grabs the probe and the mirror and smiles with her eyes at mr. Hardin from underneath the mask. 

She starts to work. It’s a regular day. Not too hot, not too cold. The sun is shining into the office and Angus Young continues to blast out that they’ve been struck by thunder, about a billion times. The only thing that looks like its’ been struck by something is her patient’s teeth. What on god’s earth is he doing during the nights? Chewing bricks?

”Mr. Hardin, are you tense?” Mila asks. 

”Howch do choo do chiiit?!” Mr. Hardin manages to utter, with both wide eyes and wide open mouth. ”Schee, chish isch wchy I gcho cher! Ycho are likche a cheraphchist-”

Mila sighs and removes the tools from his mouth. 

”No, Mr. Hardin. You grind your teeth, bad. They look awful. Stop it or you won’t have teeth left.”

”Oh.” He replies and swallows, then bursts into a smile again. ”But you see, this is why I go to you and not that crappy Family smile clinic down in Brownsville, that Irene goes to. Honesty, blunt honesty. I like that.”

”Good to know.” Mila says and signs at him to open his mouth again, to let her continue working on that tartar. ”Not everybody does. I once made one of those body builder’s cry because I scolded him for not brushing his teeth right.” 

Yeah she was pretty hard on that poor guy, but honestly, his gums looked like minced meat. Mr. Hardin smiles as best as he can with his mouth wide open.

The next song is by The Hellacopters, which makes her smile once again underneath the mask. She saw them perform, one of their last appearances, with Darya a couple of years ago. But suddenly, in the middle of ”-hey boy, you understand. Say your prayers, or you’ll be damned-” the song’s interrupted by the breaking news-jingle. 

”We’re interrupting with some disturbing news from downtown Manhattan, where chaos has erupted outside Mount Sinai’s hospital.” 

Mila pauses in a movement and glances at the radio. 

”Police have been called to the morgue where the-”newscaster seems to be groping for words, as if he himself does not believe what to say. “The dead seem to have woken up.”

It is only thanks to the slightly sticky gloves, which hug around the tools, that Mila doesn’t drop them in Mr. Hardin’s mouth, at that proclamation.

”Police began firing shots as the bodies- patients, began to attack civilians and medical staff.”

Mila returns to the tartar, but she can’t focus entirely on Mr. Hardin’s hardcore tartar infestation, even though it’s an astonishing collection; if Aaisha hadn’t been asked to help Kadeem out, she’d been sitting on the opposite side of Mila, and her big brown eyes would have been bigger than usual by excitement. It’s surely a dentist thing only, being excited by tartar. Mila tries her best to stay focused, but her mind drifts off to the radio and the rise of the living dead, where the ’on the spot’-broadcaster now interviews a doctor from Mount Sinai. 

“-at least ten former patients, declared dead during the week, escaped the morgue and attacked people on the street. Dr. Berkowitz, head of ICU, can you explain what just happened?” 

”I don’t know.”

“Were the patients in a coma?”

“No.”

”Dr. Berkowitz, did you or any of your staff, by any chance, make a mistake?”

”No, as I said, they were deceased. Dead.”

”You’re sure?”

”Yes, ofcourse.”

Mr. Hardin makes a gesture with his hand and Mila removes the tools from his mouth. 

”Turn up the volume.” He says and rises on his elbows. 

Mila obeys, reaches for the radio and turns the volume wheel up a notch. 

“How do you explain the situation, then?” the interviewer asks, now louder than before. He sounds more and more irritated, or afraid, Mila can’t really know the difference. “Dead patients suddenly… awakes?”

“I can’t.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Berkowitz, we have to- We get disturbing breaking news from Weill Cornell Medical Center that- what!?” The interviewer exclaims, as if he can’t comprehend what he’s hearing from the third party in his ear. ”Okay, ehrm- we get news that a similar incident occurs right now at Weill Cornell. I repeat, Weill Cornell. Police have been dispatched to the spot and civilians on the street have taken shelter in nearby shops and restaurants. It’s been confirmed that eight- no, nine, people have been injured and a woman has deceased, by severe blood loss. I repeat, one woman is dead and lying in the street. According to eyewitnesses- Neil, you sure about that?” The interviewer asks. “Sorry. Eye witnesses claim that the woman, and I’m sorry about this, is being eaten by the deceased. If you’re in the neighborhood, do not go outside, I repeat; do not-”

Both Mila and Mr. Hardin stare at the radio under complete dead silence. The tools are frozen in her hands and her heart beats hard inside the grey scrubs. 

“I gotta-” Mr. Hardin swallows. “I- I need to call Irene.”

“Yeah..” Mila replies. A rush of sickness runs over her. Is the room suddenly swaying, or is she just, overwhelmed? Is this real? She casts a glance at Mr. Hardin, who climbs out of the leaned back chair, still with the pale blue plastic sheet around his neck. “Yeah, go ahead.”

He leaves the room. Mila hears him talk on his phone outside the door. Should she call someone? Her mind wanders to Juri and mama first. With trembling hands Mila picks up the phone from her pocket, unlocks it and goes into the messages. She changes the alphabet to cyrillic starts dictating a text message to mama. In order not to worry her beloved mama more than necessary, she simply writes: ‘Good morning mamochka. How are you today? Love you.’ 

She presses ‘send’ and then finds her way to the contacts, where she quickly finds ‘Jim’. Signals are heard. She spins in her chair, faces the window. He picks up the phone at the fourth dial. 

“Cricket.” Jim greets her. His warm, amazing smile is felt through the phone and instantly calms her soul. 

“Thank goodness.” Mila sighs and massages her forehead. “Hi.”

Jim chuckles on the other end. She can see him clearly in front of her. Black suit and white shirt. He’s just had a haircut and said bye bye to the ponytail. Tall, handsome beyond comparison. Probably with his tenth cup of coffee of the day in his hand. It’s a miracle he can keep his cool with that much caffeine in his system. 

“Hi.” He replies softly. “What a pleasant surprise. Does milady want to hire a personal security guard?”

She can’t help but smile like an idiot. 

“I can offer a very favorable package price.” Jim continues. “Annually. How about … ten years? Initially.”

“Yeah, I’ll think about it.”

Through the phone, she can really picture how one of Jim’s eyebrows starts to go up, towards his forehead. Usually she plays along with his shenanigans and jokes, but she can’t. Not now. 

“You’re on speaker or something?” He asks. 

“No. No, sorry. I’m not.” Mila replies and sighs. “Have you heard?”

“Nope. Or, depends on what I’ve missed. What’s the talk of the town?”

“You’re nearby a tv or a computer?”

“I’m in the office. Hold on.” Jim starts tapping on the computer. Mila hears the rustle of the buttons in the background. “Oh. That’s-” Jim pauses and reads. “All of them died of the virus?”

“Apparently.” 

“I’d say it was a mistake by the hospital, if not- but…” he pauses. “‘New York Times reports that it’s more than twenty patients. Could be more.’ What the-”

“What’s happening?” Mila asks, can’t conceal her feel of discomfort. 

“Dunno.” Jim says. “Hey, I can get off work by-” he pauses, as to looking at his watch. “I’ll pick Juri up earlier, in about two hours. I’m sure he’s fine but, just in case. We’ll fix dinner.”

What have I done to deserve this guy, Mila thinks inside her head. 

“I love you.”

“You love me for my incredible mashed potatoes.” Jim grins through the phone. “Love you Cricket. It’s gonna be fine.”


	33. Jersey on my mind (Part 33)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beat goes on for the Alexandria group. But what happens when a potential new threat enters the arena? Is the end of the world big enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been on a hiatus for quite awhile. My mental health isn't great but I want you to know that I appreciate your kind words so so much! I will continue to post Jersey on my mind (I have quite the few parts) but sporadically. Keep in mind that English is my second language and the grammar may not always be completely correct, feel free to tell me if you see spelling mistakes and the like, so I can learn. I hope you will like the story.   
> xoxo, M

The large round eyes, belonging to the auburn fox, flutter from left and right, back to left, before it takes a deep breath and leaves its safe pot to seek food for the day. The night’s hefty downpour prevented it from going out, and now it’s hungry. The new world order has made it a lot easier to find food, which also means that the feeling of hunger is seldom reminded. But during the night, its stomach has been rumbling for something tasty, a bird or anything really. On soft paws, the fox hurries across the grass before stopping abruptly, to check that the coast is clear. But its home environment, a forest somewhere in Virginia, is deserted and free from danger. It had been a long time since this fox had experienced a hunting season, or heard the sound of quad bikes smelling of exhaust fumes pulling through its natural habitat. The fox hurries on, but just a few meters on it stops abruptly again, pricks up its ears when a rustle is heard. Silently, the fox hurries into a bush, at the same time as the grass is split some distance away by a pair of worn Keen hiking boots. The sun plays through the rustling foliage; a soft clatter, a result of the soft breeze that pulls through the forest. After rain comes sunshine, it’s said. But the crooked male who stumbles between the tree trunks with trailing steps, has no idea of the beauty of mother nature that surrounds him. Nor any idea that he was once a thinking, living being. Many months have passed and time has not been gentle on him. A piece, large as a clenched fist, of his cheek is ripped out, but it doesn’t worry him. He totally lacks the ability to feel, to reason about whether he needs to see a doctor or put a bandaid on it. That time is over. The only instinct that remains and clings to the man’s poisoned, dead consciousness is hunger. An incurable, constant hunger for meat. That’s what drives the man forward through the forest, without, unlike the fox, being on his guard. It’s also this inattention that is reminded when a 5.45 mm bullet penetrates his skull, between the ear and the eye. The loud sound makes the fox give up his attempted excursion and rush back to his burrow.

Daryl tears his eyes from the walker who collapses on the ground like a shattered house of cards, and glances to his left. 

“Home run.” He says as Mila lowers the rifle. “Ya’ wanna let me have a fair chance?”  
“It was you who said we should compete.” Mila threads the rifle’s shoulder strap over her arm and gives him a cheeky smile. “Gotta level up your game, Dixon. It’s not a contest if I let you win.”

“Hmpf...”

Mila starts walking and Daryl follows. He should have suspected that she was competitive. So far, she leads with eight hits against his three. 

They’re heading west. A few days earlier, Glenn, Rick and Sasha returned to the Safe-Zone after a run, announcing that they had passed a mall they hadn’t seen before. As it got dark, all three agreed that it would be foolhardy to go in and investigate. Instead, Daryl suggested that he take on the task; leave early and check the place out.

“Take someone with you.” was the only thing Rick said before heading off to bed. 

In front of Daryl, Mila’s trotting on towards their goal as fast as her feet manage. The untied boot laces bounces around her feet, whips up fallen leaves. They have accomplished about 2 miles which is halfway according to Rick’s description, made their way through woods and abandoned streets. Not taking the car was a conscious choice; Daryl wanted to do the walk. In nature he can breathe, he needs it and all its simplicity as if it were oxygen. He can not imagine spending the day with anyone else then her, on foot, on a mission to explore. Neither more nor less, yet everything.

“How far did they say it was?” Mila turns and looks at him; the long hair forms a fan around her face of the rapid movement. 

“‘Bout halfway.” He replies.

“And we’re supposed to do what again?”

“Scout the place for supplies, then go back another day if it’s any good.” Daryl offers Mila his hand as she makes her way over a big branch, lying in their path. “Ya’ had anything in mind?”

“Carol asked for some new fancy kitchen knives.”

“Course she did.” Daryl grimaces, amused by Carol’s request, and climbs the branch. 

“You go way back, you two, huh?” Mila squints at him. 

Daryl squints back at her; Mila’s sapphire blue eyes are curious and gleams in the dancing sunlight that penetrates the dense foliage above. He shrugs a little. 

“No more than anyone else.”

Mila lifts her eyebrows at him, she wants to hear more. Daryl sighs.

“We just-” He pauses, doesn’t really know what to say. “Get each other. Somehow.” How should he describe their friendship? Carol is one of his closest, most dearest friends. She’s warm, kind, fierce and she has a haunting ability to read his mind; knows what he thinks without him uttering a single word. Might be a mother’s instinct, or it might be something else, but Daryl values her ability immensely, not being very good with words himself. In the beginning, way back, he felt irritated, exposed and vulnerable in Carol’s presence. Could just as well be because he was a full blown ass to everything and everyone, but Carol made him feel human, made him feel like ‘someone’. She helped him find purpose and meaning in the group, never doubted him. Gosh, if it wasn’t for Carol, he thinks and looks at Mila, he would never be where he is; here, with Mila, being able to talk with her, not sounding like a buffoon or a total piece of shit. Crap, without Carol’s tremendous influence, Mila would probably have shunned him like the plague. He’d never in his life thought he’d soften up like this, but right now- He owes Carol everything for believing in him, not giving up. What if he’s been a good influence on her as well?

Out of nowhere, Mila says:

“You’ve gone through a lot together. Of course that must be more than friendship, that’s-” She searches for words. “-family. Strong bonds. Growing together, always having each others back. That’s valuable.”

“She’s great.” Daryl says and looks at Mila; wow, she really put words on his feelings. 

“Invaluable, I would say.” Mila smiles. “Who could have dreamed of having a babysitter in the middle of a zombie apocalypse? One who’s also chef, baker, friend- a hell of a soldier.” She chuckles and grins at him. “And here I am, with you. Hell, I might switch to Carol, now that I think of it. She’s awesome.”

Daryl takes up a handful of leaves and throws at her. Mila laughs and leans in, pulls him into a kiss, lips with a lingering taste of this morning’s breakfast; coffee black as hell and the blantest looking bowl of oatmeal Daryl’s ever seen. Her lips sweep over his and Daryl, still holding onto the crossbow, puts his arm around her neck and replies the kiss, feeling her soft hair brush against his arm. 

”I guess I get to work a little extra then.” He says with a smirk. “I won’t start baking though.”

“You sure?” She raises her eyebrows. “I'm pretty convincing.” 

For you and the kid I’d probably do whatever the hell you wanted, if you asked me to, Daryl thinks. Damn, he would go through fire and water for ‘em.

“Let’s get this over with.” He puts a loop of her hair behind her ear. ”come on, Jersey.”

With his arms still resting around her neck, they continue to walk. Above them the treetops rattle pleasantly in the wind. The birds chirp and some distance away two squirrels perform their dance for each other around a thick tree trunk, wiggling their tails and noses simultaneously. But something’s disturbing the overall peaceful atmosphere. Maybe it’s intuition, but something's not quite right. Something in the distance makes Daryl stop abruptly. All of his muscles tenses and Daryl pricks up his ears, just like the fox he saw earlier. Male voices, more than two. Like a laser pointer, his gaze moves from left to right, frantically scouting for the slightest movement, the slightest deviation from the green vegetation around them. Suddenly he sees it. Ten meters in front of where they have haltered, the greenery, scattered with a few trees and bushes, opens into a paved road. On the other side of the road lies two buildings. It’s the dirty, black pickup parked in front of one of the buildings that has caught his attention. That and the armed men surrounding it. 

“Down!”

“What?”

Before Mila has the chance to react, Daryl grabs her by the jacket and forces her to crouch. He raises a dirty index finger in front of his lips, as a sign that she should be dead quiet. Mila looks around, understands that he has seen something she has not seen yet. The sound of voices at a distance makes her look beyond the trees and bushes and she catches sight of the pickup. Carefully they make their way over to a pair of bushes that separates wilderness from domesticated. He pulls her down in the tall grass behind the foliage, out of sight, but the men in the parking lot don’t take notice of what’s happening in the vegetation at the other side of the road. Their attention lies fully on the boxes of ammunition they carry out of the run down building. They stack them on the covered truck bed, then return inside to grab some more, like a running band. Mila scouts through the foliage.

“Anyone you’ve seen before?” She asks in a low voice.

“Nah.” Daryl shakes his head while he follows a man with shoulder-length blond hair with his eyes. The blonde man disappears into the building and another comes out with yet another box. “Nah, they’re new.”

While five of the men fill the truck bed with boxes and cartons, the sixth man is standing on guard, armed with an automatic rifle, eyes searching the surrounding for any dangers, or other people. 

“Maybe we should lie low for awhile.” Mila states. 

Yeah, certainly feels foolish to make themselves known. Instead they lay low behind the bushes, watching the unknown group from a distance. Daryl looks at Mila’s profile; her forehead is furrowed and she seems to think, while biting on her lower lip. 

“Whatcha thinkin’?”

“There’s-“ She counts. ”-six of them. There’s two of us. And I’m not good at math, but-” Once again Mila peers through the foliage. “And one doesn’t need that much ammunition unless there’s a threat.” She mumbles. “Or if you yourself is the threat.”

Daryl doesn’t answer. He thought exactly the same. There’s two possible scenarios for the reason behind this hoarding and he doesn’t like any of ‘em. His thoughts wander back in time, to the prison and the Governor, beheading Herschel and splitting the group, which caused him to flee headlong with Beth. An unpleasant sensation begins to take shape inside his stomach, a bundle of painful memories cutting his insides like barbed wire. There can’t be another Governor situation, not another battle. No more losses. 

“Wonder where they’re staying.” Mila continues. “You think they have their own Safe-Zone somewhere?”

“More like Alamo.” Daryl replies, considering the heavy armor. “Ain’t lookin’ too good.”

“As long as we stay far away, we should be fine.” 

Mila pats him on the knee and turns her eyes away from the gun shop. She makes herself comfortable, takes off her backpack, opens it and takes out two plastic bottles of water, followed by a half filled bottle of vodka. Daryl grins.

“Ya’ got a problem, Jersey.” He says and receives a bottle of water. 

“I know.” She says. “If you happen to stumble across an AA meeting I promise you I’d attend, without hesitating.” 

“Been like this for long?” He drinks and looks at Mila over the clear plastic bottle. “The drinkin’ I mean.”

“My family has a long tradition of desertion, foolish luck and malicious alcoholism. I’m not exactly surprised.” Mila fiddles with the cap of the vodka bottle. “Luckily I have a quite high tolerance. Besides, I can’t really stop either. It’s considered a disease I’ve heard.” She grins amused. “Back in Russia they’d die of laughter if they heard.” She pauses and squints at Daryl in the sun. “You’d like me to stop, right?”

“You do you.” Daryl responds. Ain’t his business to tell her what to do. Nor his right to.

“That’s new.” Mila says. 

“Doesn’t seem to be that much of a problem, that’s all.” 

“Good for me then. I didn’t plan to stop, not yet at least.”

“Take ya’ time.” Daryl says. “As long as ya’ safe. And the kid. Ya’ doin’ fine.”

“Might be hard to put your head around, but I was actually quite deep in the shit a couple of months ago. Though-” Mila pauses. “I’d lie if I said I didn’t feel guilty. This-” She nods at the bottle. “No kid should grow up around it. I mean, I did and that didn’t go well. I’d throw myself over a cliff if anything happened to Juri, but-” She sighs. “I have flaws, demons. But I’ve sworn to myself, and Juri, that he’s safe, no matter how wasted or fucked up I am.”

Daryl reaches out his arm, pulls her towards him. 

“He wouldn’t be more safe with anyone else.” Daryl says and squeezes her a little. “You’re doin’ good, Jersey. Drunk or not.”

A bang, the sound of the door to the pickup’s flatbed closing, makes them both jump in the grass. They turn their heads and look through the foliage, seeing the men step into the car and onto the loaded flatbed.

“Let’s go.” They hear one of them holler.

The engine starts and they drive out of the deserted parking lot in front of the gun shop, turn left and disappear.

“Coast is clear.” Mila declares. “Let’s get going.”


End file.
